Anthology
by ohhhmeggie
Summary: A collection of oneshots based on the LiveJournal 100 prompts. Each can stand alone as a separate story, but all fit into the canon of the show. Clois centric with mentions of Chlollie.
1. 96) Writer's Choice: Down

**A/N:** I haven't posted a claim in the LJ 100 (because is that still a thing? But I adore the prompts) so this is a total illegal attempt to complete the Big Damn Table. Drabbles will probably remain Clois centric, but others may put in appearances as the need arises.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Smallville or the characters. I just play with them sometimes.

* * *

He's lived with Lois before, of course, but never in such an _intimate_ setting, their one semi-shared morning in the bathroom all those years ago notwithstanding. Clark's never been privy to her pre-bed routines before and frankly, he doesn't understand how she remembers it all.

He watches her reverently as she stands on her tiptoes and peers into the mirror to inspect every inch of her skin for the most minor blemish. Then come all the potions, lotions, and washes and then she drags a paddle brush through her thick hair exactly one hundred times before she sweeps it all up into a ponytail and secures it with an elastic. Personally he prefers when she leaves her hair down at night because he likes to bury his nose in it and breathe in the essence of her, but she says it's too hot so he hardly ever gets his way unless he remembers to tug the elastic from her hair as he enters her and leaves her so spent that she falls promptly asleep after their lovemaking.

Still, she's only just admitted to actually moving in with him for a few weeks and he's only felt comfortable watching her as she readies herself for bed for the last two. She doesn't understand his fascination with it and he doesn't understand how she can still enthrall him with the most mundane activities.

Of course, the fact that his plaid shirt that she pilfered to sleep in barely grazes the tops of her thighs as she raises her arms to her face could have something to do with it.

Her hands still over her cheekbones as she catches his gaze in the mirror. "What?"

He shrugs and can't hide the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing."

She scoffs. "Clearly, it isn't nothing. You've been watching me for ten minutes. If I didn't love you so much, it would be a little creepy."

His pulse quickens slightly. He still isn't used to those little unexpected declarations of admiration that now fall freely from her lips at the most unexpected times. It isn't supposed to be this easy, this _good_ … But it is and she's here, smirking at him in that way only Lois can.

Clark steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You know you don't need all that stuff."

She shrugs. "Trust me, Smallville, you're only saying that because you've never seen me when I don't use all this stuff."

In a blink, he spins her around, lifts her gently onto the counter, and insinuates himself between her knees. "You'd be just as beautiful without it," he breathes against her neck as his fingers reach up to find the small buttons of her shirt.

"This is so unfair…" she protests half-heartedly as he makes short work of those pesky closures before his broad hands cover the flat planes of her stomach and his fingers elicit goosebumps as they trail up her sides to her ribcage. "How do you always know the perfect thing to say?"

He smiles and kisses her deeply before she can say anything more. Secretly, he's always loved that him kissing her is one of the few things in the entire world that can leave Lois Lane utterly speechless. Tonight she tastes like the minty toothpaste and all the unspoken promises they share and she lets out a little whimper when he slides her off the counter and carries her to their bed without coming up for air.

The two halves of his shirt that hangs from her shoulders just barely cover the swell of her breasts as she backs away from him towards the headboard, the look in her eyes enough to draw him closer to her.

"Let your hair down," he whispers gruffly as he takes in her swollen pout, for once feeling bold enough to ask for exactly what he wants.

She obliges immediately and the dark brown waves cascade over her shoulders as Clark grips her neck and covers her mouth with his.

* * *

He doesn't completely wear her out, not tonight, because tonight was about making her feel as beautiful as he perceives her. So after, when she sits up and starts to twist her hair into that damn ponytail, he leans across her side of the bed and presses a kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Leave it down," he murmurs against her bare skin. "Please."

"I don't think I'll ever understand why you like my hair so much," she says quietly, and begins to twist the strands into a lopsided braid.

"It drives me crazy," he whispers, reaching for her hips, desperate to feel her beneath him again even though it's barely been fifteen minutes. " _You_ drive me crazy, every part of you."

Lois shakes her head and the semi-braid falls out. "There you go with your stupid, perfect words again."

He kneels behind her and kisses her neck. "Please leave your hair down."

She sighs and glances at him over her shoulder, but she slips the elastic back on her wrist wordlessly and allows him to flip her onto her back and once again claim her as his own.

* * *

Neither one of them ever mentions it, but Lois never pulls her hair into a ponytail before bed again.


	2. 28) Children

**A/N:** While this chapter does take place after the last, I can't promise that they will all be in chronological order. Hopefully I'll include enough clues to fill you in on where in time we are. Thank you all SO much!

* * *

She's quiet on the flight home from Star City and although he desperately wants to know why the verbose Lois Lane isn't talking, he knows better than to ask. If she wants him to know she'll tell him, and asking before she's ready would just land him on her bad side, a place he definitely does not want to be.

He's intuitive enough to know that it must have something to do with Chloe and Oliver and their new baby boy because Lois couldn't stop gushing over his chubby cheeks and his down-like white-blonde hair while they were at the hospital, but has grown eerily and uncharacteristically quiet ever since they took off from the hospital roof.

"Lois," he says softly, trying anything he can think of to lighten her mood and open the door for conversation, should she decide she wants to talk. "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course, Smallville." She sniffs. _Sniffs?_ Surely it's just because the cool night air and higher elevation is making her nose run.

Then, after a moment, she sighs. "I love you, too."

Clark doesn't press the issue any further, because he knows she'll tell him when she's damn good and ready and not a moment sooner, but as her sniffs become more frequent and a tell-tale damp patch grows on the front of the suit right where her cheeks press into his chest, it becomes harder and harder to remain silent.

Finally, he delivers her to the street in front of their apartment and nods at her as she turns quickly and heads up the stairs. He doesn't need micro-vision to see that her eyes are red and puffy and that the very end of her nose is pink.

That's what worries him the most as he speeds through his rounds in the city. Lois so rarely shows him this side of her that he's still unsure how to handle it. He's only half-aware of the burglary and even less so of the fire he stops, because all he can think about is the Lois-sized hole that's opened in his chest so suddenly that he feels as if he's suffocating.

There's plenty more he could do for Metropolis tonight—isn't there always?—but there's more he needs to do for Lois; so just after midnight he puts in a call to Watchtower and asks Dinah to take the reins for the evening. He knows it's selfish to ask the League to compensate for both him _and_ Oliver but he can't shake the feeling that something is really _wrong_ with the person he loves more than anything else in the entire world.

* * *

He changes back into his Clark Kent clothes in their phone booth and rushes back to their apartment. He isn't sure what he expects, but it sure as hell isn't Lois sitting cross-legged on the couch, mindlessly twirling her engagement ring around her finger, an untouched but open bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of her, staring blankly at the powered-off television. She hasn't been crying recently, at least not that he can tell, but she barely acknowledges his entrance, even when he calls her name worriedly.

"Lois," he says again, more quietly, rushing to her side with the weight of unasked questions in his chest. He brushes a stray strand of hair off her forehead and cups her cheek with his palm. "What's wrong?"

She lifts her hazel eyes to him and takes in every detail of his face. The slope of his nose, the strong cut of his jaw, the delicate creases at the corners of his eyes even through he's only twenty-five. Saving the world is hard on a person.

Then she kisses him softly, not unlike the way she kisses him goodbye in the middle of the night when he leaves their bed to save someone, or when their weekly movie night has to be preempted (again) because of a fire alarm he can't ignore. He knows this kiss well—she's disappointed, but has accepted her fate. It's the kiss of a superhero's wife.

"Lois…" he says again, resting his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes, and waiting, just waiting for her next move.

When the tears slip from beneath her dark eyelashes, they splash across his cheeks too, and it breaks him completely. He feels like he should apologize for something, but he still isn't sure what's wrong, and the way she's holding onto him—one fist twisted into the material of his shirt, the other gripping the back of his neck as tightly as she can—he knows now isn't the time.

* * *

Later, after he carries her to bed and holds her until the tears abate completely; after he's coaxed his favorite sound in the universe—his name, punctuated by her gasps and moans of pleasure—from her lips with just his hands (his own private apology), he pulls her against his chest and traces patterns in the delicate skin of her back.

"We're never going to have that, are we?" Lois whispers into the darkness. "What Chloe and Ollie have… A baby… A family… That's never going to be us, is it?"

Truth be told, he hasn't thought much about his ability (or lack thereof) to produce children with the woman he loves. He didn't think she thought much of it either. Lois was never great around kids, never acted like she had any interest in becoming a mother.

"I know it's silly," she tacks on to fill the uncomfortable silence she still can't stand. "I just… Looking at them tonight… Seeing how happy they are…"

His stomach twists. "You're not happy?"

"God, Clark… _Yes_ , I'm happy…" She takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly. "I'm _so_ happy… But sometimes it just hits me… The things I'm—"

"Giving up to be with me," he finishes for her as the twisting in his stomach becomes more like a vice. He's been waiting for this moment for years. Waiting for her to realize exactly what being with him means. And now she'll leave and—

She kisses him firmly, successfully pulling him from his thoughts. "But I'm not going anywhere if that's what your stupid ass was thinking just now. You can't get rid of me that easily."

It's not the first time they've had this conversation because he gets lost in his own head. He just can't shake the feeling that someday it's going to end differently. Just like it has with everyone else he's loved.

"Look, you asked me what's wrong and that's it, so…" She shrugs and tries to scramble away from him.

"Lois." Effortlessly, he reaches out and grabs her arm. She yields immediately and looks up at him with wide eyes. He sighs. "I don't know if I can… Have children. I wish I had answers for you, but I just don't know. It's never really been an issue until now."

She shakes her head vehemently, chocolate curls flying wildly. "That was unfair of me to even ask. It's not even like we have room in our lives for kids now, or maybe _ever_ , and I just—"

"But there's no one I would rather find out with than you." He places a long finger over her lips.

Lois smiles up at him. "And there are other ways we can make a family even if you can't… We can adopt. I mean, it worked out pretty well for your parents." She crawls back into his arms and rests her head in the space between his ear and shoulder. When they're like this, skin to skin and as close as they'll ever be, she likes to listen to his heartbeat. His incredibly _human_ heartbeat. That steady lub-dub that reminds her that he is here and safe and she should be grateful. There are too many nights she sleeps alone and worries.

"One would assume," she postulates before she does something silly like cry again, "that since the Luthors successfully combined your DNA with Lex's to make Conner, that ours could combine in a more natural setting to make something too."

Clark groans. "Can we maybe not talk about my brother who is also my lovechild with my mortal enemy while I've got you naked in my bed?"

She nods gravely, but there's a hint of a smile on the edges of her mouth. "It does seem like a waste."

He grins and then leans in to kiss her deeply.

They might regret this night in the morning when stories need to be filed and sources need to be interviewed and there isn't enough caffeine in the world to keep Lois from biting the copyboy's head off. But right now they are together and they are in love and there's nothing he wants more than to prove it to her.


	3. 46) Star

**A/N:** I swear I'm going to get them out of the bedroom eventually. I always felt cheated out of those moments on the show so I guess that's why I tend to write so many of them now. Thank you all again for reading and being so wonderful. :)

* * *

The General cried actual tears the first time he noticed the small cluster of stars Lois had tattooed over her right hip bone on the night of her eighteenth birthday. It completely threw her for a loop—she hadn't seen her father cry since her mother died twelve years before—but after a few days of stony silence, he pulled her into his arms after dinner one night and kissed the top of her head.

"I got to thinking about what your mother would have said," Sam Lane stated, "and I think mostly she just wouldn't have thought a little tattoo changes anything about who you are or how I should feel about you. And even though I think you could have exercised better judgment, nothing will keep me from loving you, Lo."

And that had been that.

She'd never gotten another (although the option was never completely off the table) and her father never mentioned it again.

Honestly, it's been a part of her for so long that she hardly notices it. And now, as she lies almost naked in Clark's bed for the first time, his fingers hovering over the elastic waistband of her panties, that damn tattoo is the absolute _last_ thing on her mind.

Clark gazes down at her with darkened eyes, waiting for her to signal before he will proceed. _Such_ a gentleman _._ Can't he tell that every inch of her burns for him, aches to feel him everywhere? She meets his eyes and nods and his hands grip her hips while he kisses her until she's breathless.

Tease.

But then… _Then_ his hands shift ever so slightly and _finally_ his fingers dip below the waistband and he nips her top lip gently before he pulls away to watch himself undress her completely.

And he stops.

And tilts his head.

And his thumb stills over her right hip bone. Right over that damn tattoo.

Her breath catches in her throat. If he ever actually touches her in the way she's desperate for, she's going to explode.

His thumb moves gently over the two-inch spot and he studies it serenely. "You… You have a tattoo."

"Yeah…" she says breathily, trying to calm her racing heart. "I got it when I turned eighteen. Kind of my last act of rebellion. The General wasn't happy."

Lois mentally kicks herself. Why the hell would she bring up her _father_ when the man she loves is hovering over her half-naked body? And _of course_ Clark doesn't care about the history behind her tattoo. She wishes she could decipher the expression on his face. She can't tell is he's intrigued or disgusted… She reaches for the sheet.

"What are you doing?" He stops her by exerting the gentlest pressure on her hips.

She shrugs. "I thought maybe you didn't like it…"

Clark chuckles low and deep from his chest and his thumb rubs another circle over the tattoo. "Are you kidding? I find it incredibly sexy."

He kisses her hard and she gasps into his mouth when his long fingers make purchase where she's ached for him most.

* * *

He holds her after, and she's practically delirious with happiness. She's exhausted, but she's almost afraid to sleep on the chance that this has all been a wonderful, glorious dream.

She's drifting somewhere between full consciousness and the deep sleep of the completely sated when Clark's voice rumbles beneath her.

"Did it hurt?"

She can't help but snort. "I mean, I'll definitely have to stop calling you Smallville, but this wasn't exactly my first rodeo, cowboy."

He blushes and it's so adorable that it's a little hard for her to reconcile his very man-like actions over the past hour with his boyish face; but then his arm snakes around her waist and his thumb finds her hip bone and starts making little circles again. _Tease._

"I meant your tattoo."

"Oh." She knows she's fluent in English, but it is too damn hard to concentrate on forming words with his thumb slowly torturing her. It's worse than water-boarding. "It wasn't bad," she finally ekes out. "Like when your foot falls asleep and you get pins and needles only times about a million." Lois stops short, hoping she's made a comparison with which he's familiar. There's still so much about him she doesn't know. "You, um… You _do_ get pins and needles, right?"

Clark nods. "But not often. Usually only when I'm around kryptonite for too long and pass out."

That thumb still hasn't stopped its assault on her skin.

"Clark?" She chews her lip. "Why are you so interested in my tattoo?"

"Because," he states simply, but his thumb stops moving and he plants a hand on either side of her torso and pushes himself on top of her.

"I want to know you like you know me. Every freckle…" He kisses the tip of her nose.

"Every mole…" His lips latch onto the skin of her collarbone and suck gently.

"Every scar…" He drops a kiss onto the blemish left from the emergency appendectomy she'd had when she was ten. Then he sits back on his heels and looks down at her like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She should feel self-conscious. She should reach for the sheets and try to cover herself. But Clark is looking at her with such wonder, such _love_ in his eyes that she can't make herself move. She's never felt so completely accepted and comfortable in her life. She smiles at him.

"And every tattoo," he whispers finally and presses his lips to her hip bone.


	4. 76) Who

**A/N:** I was watching "Lois & Clark" the other day and when this conversation came up between the two of them, I _knew_ it needed a Smallville counterpart. The idea is the same and I don't own L&C either.

* * *

The gift-wrapped box is just sitting on her desk Monday morning, and she eyes Clark suspiciously. Ever since Perry promoted and moved him into her office, they've agreed to keep things as professional as possible at work, even though _everyone_ knows they're engaged thanks to Cat Grant. But Clark, ever the romantic, still occasionally sends her flowers or other gifts just because he can, and Lois, ever the tease, still occasionally pulls on his favorite red garter belt under her pencil skirts and encourages him to put that x-ray vision to good use just to keep things interesting.

He looks genuinely surprised, though, when she punches him gently on the shoulder and tells him he shouldn't have.

"I didn't…" he says meekly and tries not to be concerned. It could be from Chloe or Lucy. There's absolutely no reason to assume that whomever sent this gift had anything less than Lois's best interests at heart. Even if she somehow has managed to piss off a lot of very powerful and very dangerous Metropolis residents.

"Lane, Kent, good to see you." Perry greets them jovially as he steps into the office. He beams at the box in Lois's hand. "You found it! Fantastic. I hope I'm not being presumptuous. I just thought you might need this sooner or later." He chuckles and elbows Clark. "Hopefully 'sooner,' right?"

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Lois pulls the ribbon from the box and shakes out the contents. Into her hand falls a heavy nameplate, identical in every way to the one on her desk, with the exception of—

"'Lois Kent,'" she reads and holds up the nameplate so Clark can get a good look at it.

Perry watches her expectantly. "Well, what do you think? Won't be too long until we can run your byline as Clark and Lois Kent. Have, uh…" He lowers his voice. "Have you two set another date yet? I mean, I appreciate you being professional in the office and all, but I gotta tell you, Clark, I think your mom's getting the grandma itch and—"

"Okay, Perry!" Clark takes the older man's arm and steers him towards the door. "We all have lots of work to do today."

"See, that's what I love about you two—always focused, always ready. Real newshounds. God, I love the enthusiasm of youth! Adios, kids."

Lois waves goodbye half-heartedly but can't tear her eyes away from the shiny new nameplate in her hands.

"It does have a nice ring to it…" Clark says softly after he's closed the door and returned to her side.

"Huh?" she replies stupidly and shakes her head. She feels as if she's moving underwater. She can't understand how one tiny little word—four _stupid_ letters—can throw her for such a loop.

"Your first name…" Clark perches on the edge of her desk. "And my last. They sound good together."

"Oh, yeah!" she replies quickly, too quickly, and tosses Perry's gift haphazardly back into its box. "I guess I'm just not used to seeing them together… Like that." She wrings her hands and wishes that she was better at hiding her true feelings. Or that he weren't so good at deciphering her every movement.

He narrows his eyes at her and watches her pace the small office space a few times before he speaks. "Lois, are you all right?"

"Mm-hmm. I'm fine, Smallville." She forces a smile but she knows he can see right through it.

If she's being completely honest with herself, she has no idea how she's feeling. She felt _wonderful_ when he woke her with gentle kisses on her shoulders and even better after they made love in the shower. The perfect morning had capped off a blissful, easy weekend. Very few people had needed saving, a small miracle in Metropolis these days, so she'd gotten as close to an uninterrupted forty-eight hours with Clark as she's ever had. Last night, he'd only been able to coax her out of bed with a warm bubble bath for both of them. Hell, she hadn't even put on clothes until after their shower this morning.

And now in her hand, not even two hours after the most perfect weekend _ever_ ended, is Perry's not so subtle reminder that they're going about this thing all _wrong_. She'd been _kidding_ when she called Clark her "forever fiancé," for Christ's sake. Still… They've been engaged for two years and things are _good,_ better than she'd ever hoped. It's not that she doesn't want to marry Clark, it's just that she already feels married to him… And why ruin a perfectly good thing?

Lois collapses into her desk chair with a sigh, her feet already aching from her heels and her head already pounding from her own indecisiveness.

Across from her, at his own desk, Clark turns her new nameplate over in his hands. "You don't want to get married, do you?"

There's not much of a question in his tone and as much as she dreads what she knows she'll find in his eyes, she forces herself to look up at him.

He steals her breath. His green eyes are wide and worried, his jaw juts forward a little more than normal, as if he's holding back, and his hands form tight fists for a brief moment before relaxing and tightening again.

He's the most powerful man in the entire word and she can break his heart right now if she isn't careful. With one final look at him, her decision is made.

"Of course I want to get married," she exclaims and the weight that lifts from her chest is immense.

What they have is real and wonderful and she knows that a piece of paper and a ceremony won't change any of that. Except, of course, to Clark, who has always been the more traditional of the two of them. She never cared about the legality of the whole thing, but _he_ does and she loves him enough to want to do this for him.

Clark eyes her warily. She can tell by the change in his posture that he believes her, but also that he knows she isn't being completely truthful. "Then what about this bothers you so much?" He sets the Lois Kent nameplate on her desk and she swallows hard.

"Well… How set are you on me changing my name when we get married?" she asks quietly and immediately starts picking at her thumbnail.

He doesn't respond immediately and Lois can't help but feel that she's destroyed every with one sentence.

"I know we've never talked about it. And I didn't mean _legally_ ," she clarifies. "I mean, legally I would _love_ to be considered a part of the greatest family I know…"

He smiles a little at that and she takes it as a good sign.

"But…" She pushes herself to her throbbing feet and bites her lip as she resumes pacing. "I've worked really hard to make a name for myself as Lois _Lane_ and it _is_ what people know me as professionally and marriage is a big deal for women because they're the ones who do all the changing anyway. I mean, they change their name when they get married, they change their bodies when they have a baby, they change—oof!" Her speech is muffled by Clark's lips as they press gently to hers. He always was one of the only things that could make her stop talking after she got a verbal marathon running. His hands find the small of her back and press her tightly against his strong chest as he kisses her. "We're at work…" she murmurs around his mouth.

"Lois, shut up."

She follows her advice and loses herself in the moment, tangling her fingers in his hair, relaxing into his embrace. Professionalism be damned. No one in the world can hold her like Clark does, and that would be true even if he weren't also Superman.

He pulls away from her and cups her cheek. "You don't have to convince me of anything," he whispers. "I love you and all I want is what's going to make you happy."

"But what if it makes you unhappy in the process?" she counters.

Clark shakes his head. "That's not possible."

She shrugs. "I just… It took me a long time to make her who she is and I'm kind of fond of Lois Lane."

"So am I."

"Hmm?" She purses her lips, confused by his agreement.

"She _is_ the woman I fell in love with, after all." Clark pulls her even closer to him. "Lois Lane: stubborn, hell of a left hook, can't stand awkward silences, sucker for stray dogs and naked men…"

She blushes. "Oh god…" Of course he'd bring that up.

"But also," he continues, "the most beautiful, sensitive, amazing woman I've ever met. And the woman I'm going to love with my whole heart for the rest of my life."

Lois smiles broadly, completely at a loss for words as she so often is when Clark is around and telling her everything she's ever wanted to hear. It's _really_ not fair that he has such a command over the words he says, and if she didn't love him so much, she'd probably hate him.

"Be Lois Lane to everybody else," he tells her, "but just know that to me you'll be her _and_ Lois Kent. My wife. My best friend. And, just between you and me, I think I'm getting the best deal."

"I guess I'll need to ask your advice," she says with a grin. "You _are_ the master of maintaining two identities."

Clark nods, pondering her proposition. "Well, it's hard work having an alias. You might need private lessons."

"I think that can be arranged." She laughs as he presses a kiss to the hollow behind her ear and then her breath catches in her throat and she whispers, "I love you, Clark Kent."

"I love you more, Lois Lane," he murmurs into her ear before he kisses her long and hot and hard.


	5. 71) Broken

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your kind words. They mean so much to me! Please enjoy.

* * *

The first time she sees the odd distance in his eyes that turns them from their normal bright blue-green to a darker, stormier shade of almost gray, it's preambled by the most intense and earth-shattering sex she's ever had.

He wakes her with hard kisses when he returns in the middle of the night and doesn't even bother to completely remove the suit before he tugs her panties to the side and sheaths himself inside her roughly. It's dangerous and she knows that; they're too exposed for one thing. Everyone knows that Clark, not Superman, lives here with Lois, and she wouldn't put it past that bald freak Lex Luthor to have spies watching their every move through the bedroom window. But as rash and wrong as it is, it's also _hot as hell_ and the cries that escape her throat are guttural and fierce and by the time he finishes inside her with his own strangled gasp of her name, she's gripping his back so tightly she's worried that her fingers might bleed.

He showers afterward and she's tempted to join him, but something about this whole thing—maybe the dull ache between her legs; Clark has never been that animalistic and _rough_ with her before—doesn't sit right with her so she just dresses silently and waits for him to come back to bed. They lie together for a moment, each studying the other's features as they so often do when they have quiet time like this and that's when she notices his eyes and the pain in them that wasn't there when she kissed him goodbye earlier today.

Tentatively, she reaches out a hand to stroke his face. If he were on red-k he'd snap and tell her not to touch him, and she's pretty sure Bizarro is dead and gone for good, but when your fiancé is the last son of Krypton and the prince of all things weird, you can never be too careful.

He leans into her touch and closes his eyes. So he _is_ Clark, _her_ Clark, not some cheap, made in the Phantom Zone imitation. She lets out a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he whispers, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I know I hurt you."

"No, you didn't. I mean, it was… different." Lois smooths the damp hair from his forehead. "A _good_ different," she adds quickly when she sees the tortured look on his face. "It's just… You've never been so…" She struggles to find the right word, " _forceful_ before."

Clark squeezes his eyes closed. "I just so badly needed to feel you… I needed to know you were safe, that you were here and okay… And I got carried away."

Ahh. So that's what this is about. She chews her lip, trying to decide how to phrase her question. She settles for what she does best—bluntly. "How bad was it tonight?"

"Earthquake," he croaks. "In the Middle East… I got there too late. I saved some, but…"

"Oh, Clark… You can't save everyone." She and Chloe have been trying to pound this idea into his head for the last year, ever since he put on the suit and went public, but underneath the primary colors he's still Jonathan and Martha Kent's son and his heart still breaks for every life lost.

"I know." He pulls his hand from her hair and strokes the delicate skin of her lips reverently. "But every time I lose someone, I'm reminded that it could be you or Chloe or my mom and I…" He sighs, unable to go on.

"But it isn't us."

"Not tonight."

Lois rolls over and presses her back to his bare chest. His arms wrap automatically around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. They've slept like this since the beginning, knees tangled together in a mess of sheets, her hair fanning out over the pillows, tickling his nose in the most delicious way.

"Not ever," she says firmly and squeezes his hands that rest protectively over her stomach as his lips speak silent volumes against the back of her neck.

She acquiesces quickly to her tiredness, but sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of falling infinitely with no Clark there to catch her.

* * *

In the morning, as soon as she gets to work and can escape his super-hearing for a moment when he rushes off to an emergency, she calls Martha Kent. Lois briefs her on the events of the previous evening—leaving out the mind-blowingly good sex, of course—and expresses her concern for Clark's well-being.

She isn't sure what she expects her to say. After all, Lois barely remembers her own mother and the General was never one to offer up advice of this sort, but Mrs. Kent is the only other person on earth that knows Clark as well as Lois does, with the exception of Chloe, and that call will come later. She needs all the help she can get. She never wants to see that look in his eyes again.

Martha remains quiet for such a long time after Lois stops speaking that she checks her cell three times to make sure they're still connected.

"Look, Mrs. K…" She wrings her hands nervously. "I could be totally overreacting here, but I'm just worried about him. I've never seen him like this and I'm not sure what to do…"

Finally the older woman sighs. "Lois, I think you just have to do what you do best—"

Lois scoffs. "And what's that? Worry? Annoy everyone? Make an awkward situation even more mortifying? 'Cause those are all my strong suits."

"No, sweetie." She laughs a little. "You just need to love him."

* * *

Chloe tells her more or less the same thing only far less eloquently and over a soundtrack of baby cries. Jonathan has come down with colic and Oliver's singing is the only thing that calms him.

"It's great for the baby," Chloe says exasperatedly, "but sometimes I think I'd rather listen to incessant crying than another off-key rendition of 'Copacabana.'" Lois just laughs and thanks her cousin for her advice and they talk about planning a visit as soon as it's feasible for both of them.

She doesn't feel any better when she disconnects the call, because as easy as it is for Mrs. Kent and Chloe to tell her just to _love_ him, actually finding a way to show him that without also being annoying clingy is another story.

She is absolutely useless for the rest of the day. All she does is stare at her computer screen absentmindedly, and sneak glances at Clark every time he sighs or checks his wristwatch. She knows he'll head back to the Middle East as soon as he can slip away unnoticed, and truthfully, he wouldn't be the man she fell in love with if he didn't want to do all he could to help everyone affected by the disaster; but she also knows he didn't sleep well last night either and the haunted look in his eyes hasn't dissipated any today.

Just as she anticipates, he kisses her cheek at five on the dot and points to the roof. Lois just nods and tells him to be careful.

* * *

She orders Chinese for dinner, and falls asleep during her repeated prayer that Clark is safe, all right, and saving everyone he can.

She wakes up alone the next morning, the blankets on his side of the bed completely undisturbed.

* * *

He makes it to work just after eight, wearing the same blue oxford shirt and red tie he did yesterday, and he steps into her office sheepishly, carrying a bag of maple doughnuts and a take-out cup of coffee from her favorite bakery. She accepts her breakfast from him without a word before turning to the window to study the skyline while she wishes she could be absolutely _livid_ with him right now. He's never failed to return home, no matter how big the tragedy, no matter what he's gone through the night before. It stings because this morning's absence reminds her that even though he has shared almost every part of his life with her, there are always going to be things he feels the need to protect her from.

Lois has just about worked herself into a state of truly righteous anger when she hears him sigh heavily from her desk. When she turns to him, she's surprised to see him propping himself up with unsteady arms, head bent to his chest in exhaustion, shoulders shaking from the silent sobs that wrack his body.

Her heart breaks for him and she _hates_ herself for being pissed off because he's been so wrapped up in _helping_ people that he forgot to come home. It's not like she expects to find Mia Dearden's lipstick on his collar. He's saving people, for God's sake, and he's willing to kill himself to do it. She could not be more self-absorbed.

"Hey." She drops her breakfast on the window sill next to their silver-framed engagement picture and insinuates herself between his body and her desk, taking his stubble-covered chin in her hands. "Clark, look at me."

He breathes deeply and lifts his head, but he refuses to meet her eyes. "I'm fine."

"You aren't. Tell me."

He shakes his head and rubs a hand angrily across his eyes. They're bloodshot from both the tears and the lack of sleep and his skin is eerily pale, the pallor only intensified by the dark circles that have etched themselves underneath his eyes.

"I'm here. I'm safe. I'm okay." Carefully, gently, Lois steps onto the toes of his black wingtips, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him softly. He doesn't respond immediately, and when he does it isn't with his usual verve, but that doesn't surprise her.

"You're here… Safe… Okay," he repeats slowly between kisses.

The words become a mantra for them and she doesn't pull away until his tears stop and his breathing evens and slows.

 _Here, safe, okay._

"Thank you," Clark sighs as he pulls her tightly against his chest. "I love you."


	6. 1) Beginning

**A/N:** How about some season 4 Clois? Please note that this chapter takes place in episode 4x02, "Gone," and while none of the dialogue is directly quoted, most of the events of 4x01 and 4x02 are referenced at some point. Also, brief mention of Lana if that is a thing for you (it is for me haha, but it's minuscule and there is no angst, I swear!).

* * *

The first night she spends at the Kent Farm is awkward as hell and it's all Clark's fault.

She'd been nervous when he invited her to stay with them—Lois has never really been good when it comes to the impressing the boy's families thing—but she'd shaken off the feeling because the thought of sleeping in an actual bed and not her car seemed heavenly. Besides, she has absolutely zero interest in ever dating Clark and she's heard Chloe's never-ending praise for Martha Kent's cooking for years, so she accepted the invitation and hauled her bags upstairs after the inquisition following their not-so-shared shower and brush with helicopter death. If nothing else, she just wants the chance to convince the Kents that she isn't a harlot there only to corrupt their son. Why couldn't she have just kept her mouth shut in the bathroom this morning?

Lois tries to help Clark set the table for dinner, but he keeps swatting her away, so she heads into the kitchen to assist Martha, but she brushes her off too, so eventually Lois just asks which seat is hers and sits patiently until the rest of the family joins her.

Her stomach gurgles expectantly as soon as the rich, tomato and garlic sauce smell of lasagna hits her nose and she inhales deeply. It's been years since she's had honest-to-God handmade lasagna and not the frozen boxed kind the General has her pick up from Walmart.

"Everything smells amazing, Mrs. K," she says sincerely as Martha sets a steaming plate of garlic bread on the table next to her. Lois stretches a hand toward the salad bowl as Martha takes her seat, but stops when Clark clears his throat from across the table and gives her a swift kick in the shin. He grips his parents' hands and looks at her expectantly. Lois inwardly groans at her faux pas. Of course they pray before meals.

She offers Jonathan and Martha an apologetic smile and accepts their outstretched hands. She stares daggers across the table at Clark, though, because he's grinning like he can't get enough of her embarrassing herself in front of his parents, before she squeezes her eyes closed and says a short prayer of her own. _Please don't let me mess this up any more. Please let them like me._

She expects (and maybe hopes for) a short, simple "God is great" number, but the Kents actually _pray_ , thanking God for their day and that everyone is healthy and that they're able to enjoy the meal together as a family.

"And thank you for bringing Lois to us." Her eyes snap open when Jonathan mentions her name. "We are grateful for her new friendship with Clark, and hope that we can make her stay as welcoming as possible."

There's a little more, but she's so distracted and touched by the fact that they included her, even after catching her in a rather compromising bathroom situation with their only son, that she can't concentrate on anything but the warmth she feels.

* * *

Mrs. Kent escorts Lois to Clark's room as they turn in for the night and reminds her that she only needs to ask if there's anything she needs. Then she pulls Lois into a hug and apologizes for Chloe's untimely death again. It would sting unbearably if Lois didn't have herself almost one hundred percent convinced that somehow Clark knows what he's talking about when it comes to the supposedly empty grave. And it just feels so damn wonderful to be hugged by someone's mother that Lois returns the gesture enthusiastically and is a little disappointed when Martha releases her and bids her a final goodnight.

Lois enters Clark's bedroom and pulls closed the heavy wooden door behind her. She stops and surveys the room, trying to get a sense of what about him fascinates her cousin so much. So far, she hasn't seen much to be impressed with. Other than the obvious physical attributes, of course, but she's trying hard not to think about that. There's a desk with a few random books against the wall, a powered-off computer, and a corkboard with a handful of pictures haphazardly pinned up. There are no sports trophies, no FFA ribbons, no accolades of any kind. Desperate for something to hold over his head, she even slides her hands between the mattress and box springs looking for a well-worn _Playboy_ or _Hustler_ or something. But there's absolutely nothing. She sighs. Clark Kent is officially the most boring person alive.

She throws herself onto the bed and smiles as she bounces a few times. Good. She'll _definitely_ sleep well tonight. Farm Boy's super-comfy bed beats the back seat of the Mustang any day.

* * *

She really hates that she's an optimist. She was so sure that running from the Army and having to go all third-degree black belt on that guy would guarantee her a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But as she lies in the dark in Clark's bed, she can't stop thinking about how absolutely sure of himself he sounded when he asserted that Chloe was still alive. She hadn't pressed the issue too much—she was just grateful to have someone else who believed her and so desperate to believe that her cousin was still alive—but now she wishes she had. Sure, Clark _said_ there was no body in that coffin, but how could he possibly know for sure? How could _she_ , for that matter. Unless… But no. It is absolutely insane to go to the cemetery in the middle of the night and dig up a grave to check for a body, right? But she needs to know beyond a shadow of a doubt and that might be the only way to know for sure.

She shakes her head and snuggles further into the blue sheets. If she can just stop thinking about Chloe, maybe she can get some sleep and be able to make better decisions in the morning. Perfect plan. Sleep is always a good thing, especially when it comes to decision making. She rolls onto her side and takes in a deep, cleansing breath. She makes a mental note to ask Mrs. K what fabric softener this is. It's vanilla and sweet and fresh and something she can't quite pin down—utterly unlike anything she's ever smelled before. She wants to wrap herself up in it every night for the rest of her life.

Lois lies silent and still for a few moments, just breathing deeply and trying to sleep, but she keeps identifying new layers to the magical fabric softener—is that a whiff of pine? Musk? Fresh-cut wood?—and then before she knows it, she's thinking about Chloe again and planning the logistics of actually digging up that damn coffin.

"Pie." She sits up suddenly and throws the blankets off her legs. "I need pie."

The Kents hadn't expressly told her to help herself to anything in the fridge, but they _had_ told her to make herself at home… And Chloe was totally right: Mrs. K was a _fantastic_ cook. Lois has been dreaming about another slice of apple pie practically since she'd finished the first at dinner. Martha had offered her another helping, of course—Clark had two, after all—but Lois had declined because she was already stuffed. But now it would be a perfect and more than welcome distraction to the maelstrom in her head.

She pads downstairs lightly and is grateful that the moon is bright enough through the windows that she doesn't need additional lights. After some searching through the counters, Lois locates the saucers and then she finds the pie in the fridge and cuts herself a sizeable serving. Fork in hand, she climbs into the bay window seat and tucks her legs underneath her. With the moonlight casting silver rays, she can see across the farm, but if it weren't full tonight, it would be pitch black outside. She shudders involuntarily. She's always preferred cities.

But wait. She shifts, fork dangling from her lips. The moon wouldn't cast that yellow light from the barn. She glances at the couch in the living room where Clark is supposed to be sleeping, but his blankets are still folded neatly over the arm.

She decides she will never forgive him if he's working on the Chloe's case without her.

* * *

Clark's barn loft thing is kind of cool, she grudgingly admits as she climbs the stairs as quietly as possible, still trying to catch him doing something highly embarrassing to hold over him. He's bent over a telescope at the window when she enters and she snorts. No wonder she couldn't find any damning evidence in his room, if it even exists, it's up here.

"Oh my God, you're such a nerd," she says as she runs her hands over the astronomy books laid open on his desk.

Clark stands up too quickly, startled by her voice, and bumps his head on the window. "Ouch."

Lois laughs and continues her perusal of his things. But then her eyes land on a framed picture of a pretty, petite brunette with dark eyes. That must be the infamous Lana Lang she's heard so much about from Chloe. She suddenly feels like she's intruding—which doesn't happen often—so she abandons her search and plops down on the futon, pulling her knees up to her chest.

He's still rubbing the back of his head as he accepts the plate of pie she brought up to him and sits next to her. "Couldn't sleep?"

"It's very…" She pauses, remembering how the short walk from the house to the barn had been void of sirens or car horns or any of the noise she's used to at night, "quiet out here."

He chuckles. "I guess it's what you get used to."

She watches him eat for a minute and picks at a string on her pajama pants. "And I couldn't stop thinking about Chloe."

"Yeah."

"You were so sure today," she starts, unsure of how exactly to breach the subject. "It's like you knew for sure that she wasn't in there."

He shrugs noncommittally and digs into his pie.

Lois studies him for a minute. He was also right in what he said about her this afternoon. It does drive her insane when she can't get a read on someone and Clark Kent, who just might be the least complicated person she's ever met, is totally throwing her for a loop. It's absolutely infuriating. Well. There's no point in beating around the bush.

"I want to dig up her coffin and check out your theory."

He chokes, snorts, and coughs for a solid ten seconds. "Lois, that's insane," he finally manages, reaching for the bottle of water on the coffee table in front of them.

"Why?" She pushes herself to her feet and paces across the small loft space. "If your theory's right, we have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, and if I'm wrong…" Clark shakes his head. "Neither one of us needs to see her like that. Just let me handle it."

Lois stops pacing abruptly, crosses her arms over her chest, and stares him down. "Yeah, right."

"She's my best friend."

"She's my first _cousin_."

He leaps to his feet and stands right in front of her, staring down his nose at her. She's sure it's intimidated other people before, but she's not other people. Her father is a three-star general for Christ's sake.

Clark's jaw twitches the tiniest bit and she knows she's won, but she stands her ground until he finally turns away from her and runs a hand through his unruly hair.

"Fine," he spits. "You can help. But we _are not_ digging up Chloe's grave."

"Fine." She holds up her hands in surrender. The General's daughter knows how to compromise. If he won't help, she'll just have to do it on her own. First thing in the morning. "We'll find some other way to prove that Chloe's still alive."

"Thank you." He returns to his seat on the futon. "And thank you for the pie. It was nice of you."

She shrugs. "I figure anybody who's as close to my cousin as you are can't be all that bad. And your parents are pretty awesome."

"They like you." He says it quickly, like he hasn't had the time to fully process the words before they slipped from his lips. "I mean… Even though I think you scare them a little." He smirks.

"I'm used to it," she replies with a grin.

A moment passes between them, one that she might almost characterize as the beginning of a friendship. Truthfully, she's been almost jealous that Chloe has a friend like Clark and Lois has no one. She supposes she should be used to it. Army brats aren't known for developing long-lasting relationships. But when she looks at Clark, she sees someone who could potentially remain in her life for a long time. That is, if she doesn't completely destroy the boy while she's living with him searching for her probably not-dead cousin.

In a moment of weakness, or maybe just sheer exhaustion, she leans her head over and rests it on his shoulder. He stiffens in response, but doesn't move to push her away. Her senses are flooded with the scent of the fabric softener she's come to love. Then he turns his head and his hair brushes against her cheek and she realizes that the note she hadn't been able to identify is pure Clark—his own heady, musky, masculine scent. She jerks her head away, embarrassed at her brazenness.

"Well," she says, rubbing her hands on her thighs. "We should try to get some sleep if we're going to hit the ground running tomorrow."

Clark nods.

"You know…" She pauses at the edge of the stairs and turns back to him. "I think I'm starting to see what Chloe likes about you."

"Goodnight, Lois." She could be mistaken, but she would almost swear she'd seen the hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all so so much. I wasn't sure what to expect when I decided to start posting, but I have been overwhelmed by your kind words and encouragement. You make it easy to keep going. 3 meggie


	7. 60) Drink

**A/N:** This story takes place in episode 8x05 "Committed," which is undoubtedly one of the greatest Clois episodes of the entire series, so it probably won't be the last time I visit this episode for a "cut" scene. Please enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!

* * *

She's lost count of the glasses of champagne she's downed. She distinctly remembers the four before her speech and then at least two after that, but after those, it's all a blur. At some point after Clark brought her a piece of cake "to soak up some of that champagne" she'd forgone the glass completely and now sits with her back to the brick wall, legs splayed awkwardly and very unladylike in front of her, swigging from a bottle of Moët she'd stolen from the bar.

She can't figure out what it is about this whole engagement party thing that rubs her the wrong way—she has no problem with Jimmy, truly, and he makes Chloe happier than Lois can ever remember seeing her. She'd just woken up this morning with a niggling uncomfortable feeling in her stomach and it had twisted and grown into something unbearable. She figures trying to drown the son of a bitch in champagne can't hurt.

"Maybe Clark was right," she says to the bottle before tipping it back and drinking deeply. "Maybe I am jealous."

Her breakup with Ollie still stings because he was undoubtedly one of the greatest things to ever happen to her, not to mention that he was gorgeous, loaded, and _really_ good in bed. But Lois likes to think that she knows herself fairly well after twenty-three years, and she knows in her heart that she doesn't have what it takes to stand by and let the man she loves save the word. She's always been too jealous to be a hero's wife.

"I have been looking all over for you," Clark stands over her, staring down disapprovingly. She wonders vaguely if he even has another look as far as she's concerned.

She holds out her arms and grins widely. "You found me!" she sing-songs and takes another pull from the bottle. Then she burps unceremoniously. "Good job, Clarkie."

He heaves a sigh and slides down the wall to sit beside her. "Jesus… You're wasted."

"Yes." She nods. "But at least I'm keeping my mouth shut. Hey, was it you that told them not to give me a microphone again? 'Cause I was gonna sing for Chloe and Jimmy, but they wouldn't give me the mike... Want a drink?"

Clark takes the proffered bottle, but he doesn't raise it to his lips. Instead, he pours the liquid into a potted plant to his left and tosses the empty bottle out of her reach.

"Hey… That was mine," she slurs as she crawls drunkenly toward the bottle, not even caring that her dress is riding dangerously close to the tops of her thighs.

"Oh, I think you've had enough." Clark's strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her to her feet.

"I'm fine," she says stubbornly, but the room lurches as she takes a step forward and she's back in Clark's arms before she even realizes that she's lost her balance.

"I'm taking you home," he says and the tone of his voice convinces her that there's no point in arguing, so she allows him to escort her out of the ballroom and into the parking lot, where she promptly vomits behind a dumpster.

* * *

Clark figures that the throwing up part would solve almost all of Lois's problems, at least as far as the alcohol is concerned, but she still appears to be incredibly drunk when he helps her out of his truck and carries her up the front steps of the Kent Farm. He sets her gently on the couch and takes her purse, shoes, and coat from her.

"Stay there," he tells her firmly before he speeds upstairs and changes out of his formalwear. There's no point in ruining his good clothes by cleaning up puke in them all night.

"Oh God," she moans as he zips back downstairs. "I must have blacked out. There's no way in hell you could have changed that fast…" He shrugs and doesn't see the point in correcting her.

He fetches her a glass of water from the kitchen and urges her to drink, but she shakes her head vehemently and grasps for the remote control on the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" He wrestles the remote from her.

"Music!" she exclaims and blows out a breath, flipping her bangs off her forehead and smattering them wildly around her face. "I still want to sing. Whitesnake, please."

He sighs and places the TV remote in the entertainment center as he flips on the radio and twists the tuner to the '80s rock station. He can't guarantee Whitesnake, but hopefully this is close enough to distract her long enough for him to get some water down her.

She hums through the last bars of an Asia song and then clambers clumsily onto her feet on the middle couch cushion as soon as the soft piano of the next track begins, holding one of Martha Kent's antique brass candlesticks to her mouth as a microphone.

He doesn't see this ending well. "Oh God."

"'Sister Christian, oh the time has come, and you know that you're the only one to say okay—'" She sings loudly, drunkenly, and more than a little off-key and Clark stands in front of the couch protectively, watching her bare feet for the first sign of imbalance. "'—motoring! What's your price for flight?! In finding mister right, you'll be all—"

Miraculously she manages to maintain her footing until the chorus, and then when she falls, it's directly into Clark's waiting arms. The candlestick clatters to the floor behind him.

"You know…" she says quietly as he sets her gingerly on the couch and takes a seat next to her. "I used to think that Ollie was my Mister Right. Can you believe that? _Oliver Queen!"_ She dissolves into a fit of giggles that ends as abruptly as it began. "But then… Then he had to go and drop the Green Arrow bomb on me and I just…" Lois shrugs and angrily wipes at the corner of her eye. "I just _bailed_ … Like I always do because I'm too damn selfish to even think about sharing him with anyone else."

He knows he should say something, try to comfort her or convince her that she isn't selfish and that everything always works out the way it's supposed to, but he can't figure out how to put that sentiment into words, so he sits with his hands laced together in his lap and waits.

"Clark," she says quietly, after a few moments of silence between them. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

He rubs the back of his neck, and purses his lips. A year ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to answer with a resounding yes. But things look so different without Lana by his side and as much as he'd like to believe there's still hope for them, even after everything that's happened, there's also a part of him that feels like he and Lana were never truly meant to be. Nothing that's right should ever be so hard.

"Well. Do you?" She's staring at him, her mouth open in a tiny 'O,' her eyes wide and expectant, waiting for his answer.

Clark clears his throat. "I guess," he finally settles on, because he _has_ to hang onto the belief that there is someone in the world made just for him, someone who can love him despite all his abilities, maybe even someone who will look at him like he's just a man, even if that person isn't Lana Lang. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She nods. "And I used to think everybody had one. But now I think maybe there are certain people who are just meant to be alone forever, like me." Lois pulls her legs up beside her and stretches out her body until she's lying on her back across his lap, her bare feet dangling over the arm of the couch.

He's never noticed before, but her toenails are always painted the same vivid shade of dark pink.

"I can't even be a cat lady," she says philosophically from his lap. "I'm allergic."

"Lois…" he says gently because he can see the tears already forming in the corner of her eyes. "You aren't meant to be alone forever. Sooner or later, you'll find the one and then none of this other stuff will matter one bit."

She offers him a weak smile and taps her fingers along to the song that plays softly from the radio. "Do you think Jimmy is Chloe's one?"

He shrugs. "I guess that's for her to figure out. But I don't think Chloe would rush into anything. And who says soulmates have to come in a one-to-one ratio anyway?"

"Clark…" It requires a lot of effort, he can tell, but she raises a hand to his cheek and rubs her thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so nice. You're probably the nicest, sweetest boy I've ever met and I'm glad we're friends."

He chuckles, takes her hand in his, and pats it. "Thanks, Lois. I'm pretty glad we're friends too."

"And partners," she slurs. "We are also partners at the _Planet_. And we make a damn good team when you listen to me."

"Sure, Lois."

She sits up gingerly and looks down at her dress. "I'm so uncomfortable. I need to be in other clothes." She turns her back to him. "Unzip me?"

Clark swallows hard and takes the zipper between his thumb and index finger. He'd be lying if he said he'd never entertained thoughts of helping Lois out of her clothes—he's still a twenty-two-year-old male, after all, and it's not like he gets to choose who he dreams about—and he has to carefully control his breathing as the teeth of the zipper pull apart, revealing the flawless expanse of her back. There's a smattering of freckles over her shoulders and she has a tiny mole just under her right shoulder blade. The black lace of her bra stands out against her skin beautifully and he has to bolt upstairs and find her some other clothes to put on to keep from running his hands around her sides to her ribcage and pressing his lips to the back of her neck.

"Clark?" he hears her voice echo from downstairs and he grabs the first thing he can find, which just happens to be his old football jersey and a ratty pair of gym shorts. At least the jersey will hang loosely from her shoulders and cover up _everything_. He takes the stairs two at a time on his descent and tosses the clothes on the couch. For some reason, she's twirling around the kitchen in— _oh Christ—_ nothing but a thin slip and that damn bra.

"Chloe!" She trills into the phone pressed to her ear. "It's your cuz. Guess who came to my rescue? Not Oliver Queen…" She giggles a little. "Clark Kent! He is just the sweetest boy I have ever known and I—"

"Lois! Get dressed. I'll be right back," he somehow manages to say before he runs back upstairs and braces himself on the bathroom sink. He meets his own gaze in the mirror and takes a few deep breaths. "No way," he tells his reflection. "Not Lois. Not ever."

"Clark?" she calls again, but this time her voice is tinged with unease. "Clark, I'm coming up. I'm pretty sure I'm going to puke again." Then there's a thud on the stairs.

He's at her side as quickly as is humanly possible, because he can't run the risk of using his powers again and Lois _maybe_ remembering anything weird about tonight, and he's mortified to see that she's foregone the gym shorts and just pulled his football jersey on over her shoulders. It's impossible for him to miss her toned thighs and the black lace panties as she lies sprawled on the stairs. _And_ she's pulled her hair out of its messy up-do so that it hangs in curls around her shoulders that now have his name emblazoned across the back. He sighs. She's going to be the death of him, one way or another.

As embarrassed as he is at her state of undress, he can't just leave her lying on the stairs, especially if she's feeling ill; so he hoists her into his arms and carries her to the toilet. She curls her body around the commode and heaves. Her right hand clutches the toilet seat tightly and the left tries desperately to grab her hair and keep it out of the way. With nothing else to do, Clark leans over her and gathers the thick brown waves into his hands. It's softer than he realized, now that he's actually _touching_ it, and it smells inherently like Lois and everything he associates with her—coffee and newsprint and so many other things he never realized were just her.

Then the acrid smell of vomit hits his nostrils and he turns his attention to the welcome distraction of breathing through his mouth.

* * *

Lois glances up at him when the vomiting finally abates (after what feels like _hours_ ) and offers him a weak smile after she flushes the toilet. She's exhausted, clammy, and shaky, and she knows she has puke all over her face— _super_ attractive. But Clark is staring at her like she's the only thing in the world he's concerned about and that both flatters and terrifies her.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, releasing her hair carefully and moving to the sink to wet a washcloth for her.

She nods. "The room finally stopped spinning." Her voice is thick, her head is pounding, and her throat is raw. All she wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for three or so days.

Clark kneels beside her and presses a cool cloth to her forehead before using another to wipe her mouth. She's humiliated. No one should have to take care of her when she's like this. No one ever has.

"You don't have to do this, Clark…" She reaches up to take the cloth from him, but he narrows his eyes at her in silent protest and continues cleaning her face. She's too tired to fight and it actually feels _wonderful_ to have someone else to depend on.

"We'll get some water in you and then you'll sleep the rest of it off. No offense… But you're sleeping on the couch tonight. I don't want to wash sheets at four in the morning." He pulls his hand away with a small grin. "There we go. That's the Lois Lane we all know and love."

She rests her forehead on the toilet seat and watches as he perches on the edge of the tub.

"What? You look like you want to ask me something."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She's wondered all evening why he didn't just drive her back to the Talon and toss her in her own bed to sleep it off. It would have made the most sense and would have saved him the trouble of having to drive her back to her car in the morning. But she has to admit, it's been kind of wonderful having someone around to make sure she didn't do anything completely ridiculous.

He shrugs. "We're friends, right? Besides, I thought maybe you didn't need to be alone tonight."

Lois eyes him warily. "That's not happening, Smallville. Ever in this lifetime."

He blushes and shakes his head. "No—that's not what I meant. I just…" He sighs. "You seemed pretty upset earlier and I thought it might be nice if you had someone around if you wanted to talk about anything. And I guess it kind of worked."

She groans. "Look. All that stuff I said about Ollie and soul mates and _whatever_ … Just forget it, okay? I'm sure I will."

"I'm _sure_ you will," he echoes as he moves to help her to her feet. "But Lois… The next time you feel like crawling behind the bar and drinking an entire bottle of champagne, come talk to me first, okay?"

"Sure, Smallville." She nods sleepily and falls against his side, wrapping her arms around his neck and hoping against hope that he'll sweep her into his arms and carry her downstairs. Not because she'd enjoy it or anything; she's just not sure she can be trusted on stairs yet. She closes her eyes in relief when she feels his arm behind her knees.

The last thing she remembers is feeling absolutely, perfectly safe in Clark Kent's embrace.


	8. 34) Not Enough

**A/N:** Please note that this excerpt takes place between episodes 8x10 and 8x15 (the S8 Clana arc). A huge thank you to LoisNClark4Ever, who finally convinced me to bite the Lana bullet and get everything out in the open since TPTB never saw it necessary. Please enjoy!

* * *

She supposes this is exactly what she gets for even thinking that there could be something between her and Clark that isn't pathetically one-sided on her part. So what if Jimmy said that Lois and Clark would be great together and _so what_ if Clark had finally looked at her the way every woman wants to be looked at and not just as Chloe's annoying cousin for the first time as she'd descended the stairs in her bridesmaid dress, even if the color did make her look a little like a pumpkin? Never mind that he'd basically read Jimmy's vows as a confession of his own feelings to her and that when he'd pulled her into his chest and danced with her, his hand slipped lower than absolutely necessary on her waist and his eyes bored into her very soul. Never mind that their lips had been so close that she could feel his breath coming in short bursts, which meant he'd obviously felt _something,_ as he'd leaned in to kiss her.

But then there was Lana, looking perfect; and there was Clark, still completely in love with her; and there was Lois, bowing quietly out of the barn before she could make things more awkward.

She's regretting downing that bottle of champagne while she bared her soul to Oliver because even though watching your cousin's wedding be demolished by a weird bony monster _thing_ from hell will sober you up quickly, her stomach still churns uncomfortably. Why hadn't she learned her lesson after the engagement party? Then again, Clark had told her to come talk to him the next time she felt like downing an entire bottle of bubbly and she couldn't very well march herself up to him and profess her stupid feelings for him when the love of his life had just walked back into town.

 _God_ , whatever this is that she's feeling for Clark is a colossal mistake. She leans her head against the cinder block wall of the emergency room as the doctor finishes checking her over. She supposes that's one good side effect of having an overactive fight or flight response—running away from conflict had meant that she avoided any major injury from that thing that had attacked and taken Chloe. It's not that she's glad Chloe's missing—exactly the opposite—but Lois tries to see the silver lining in everything. She found Chloe when she was presumed dead once before, surely she can do it again.

"Olsen?" The nurse calls frantically and Lois pushes her doctor away and scampers to her. Jimmy, on the other hand, had taken the brunt of the monster's anger.

"Jimmy Olsen?" She tugs at her dress. What she'd give for a pair of running shorts and a tank top right now.

The nurse eyes her warily. "Are you family?"

Lois sighs and wrings her hands. "He just married my cousin and she's missing, so I guess I'm as close as it gets. He doesn't have parents, well, not ones he speaks to. I'm Lois. Lois Lane." Everything had happened so fast… It's hard to process that Jimmy _is_ technically family now.

"Yes, I heard about his poor wife…" The other woman considers her explanation and then nods. "Well, he's stable for now, but we need to get him to a specialty surgeon."

"So you're sending him to Met Gen?"

She shakes her head. "Met Gen doesn't have the facilities he needs to recover fully."

Lois narrows her eyes. "Then where—"

"Star City," the nurse says. "It's the only chance he has. We can send him alone for now and then when your cousin returns—"

"No," Lois interrupts. "No. I'll go with him."

The nurse studies her warily and Lois can understand why. It must be hard for her to understand why a young woman would be willing to uproot her entire life for her missing first cousin's new husband. But Lois has always considered Chloe more of a sister than Lucy, and she knows without a doubt that this is the right decision. Her job at the _Planet_ will keep—she has some personal days built up, and she can always take family medical leave if she needs to—and there's nothing else keeping her here. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Clark's dark head duck into the room she assumes belongs to Lana. Nothing at all.

It's what Chloe would want.

And, if she's being completely honest with herself, she doesn't know if she can handle seeing Clark be in love with Lana right now. Not when she was so sure there was something between them.

"I'll go," she reiterates. "He needs someone. No one should have to heal alone."

* * *

The pull-out couch in Jimmy's hospital room is terribly uncomfortable and she hasn't had anything to eat but dry cheeseburgers and cold fries for the last three days. She knows every member of the intensive care unit nursing staff by name and they all pretend not to give her sympathetic looks when they come in to check his vital signs and administer medicines. She looks like hell—bags have formed underneath her eyes, she hasn't given her hair a proper brushing in days, and the cheap mascara she bought at the hospital gift shop flakes.

On the plus side, she has discovered a new love for the comfort of hospital scrubs. A sympathetic nurse had taken pity on her in her short dress and high heels and had slipped her a pair of powder blue scrubs and a pair of rubber flip flops from the floor lost and found on the first day of Jimmy's stay. She had changed immediately and shoved her bridesmaid dress into the hazardous waste bin. Lois will never wear orange again for as long as she lives.

She palms her cell phone and scrolls through her contacts. She pauses over Chloe's name and her stomach twists. What she wouldn't give to be able to call her cousin and complain about the food and her lack of clothes and the fact that the hospital-issued shampoo has built up on her hair and dulled it beyond belief. But if she _could_ talk to Chloe, she wouldn't even have to be here. She tries not to think about it too much. Instead, she just tries to be the best stand-in nursemaid Jimmy could want.

And then, right underneath Chloe's name, is Clark's. Three weeks ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about calling him in lieu of her cousin, just to hear a familiar voice, just to hear him say her name in that way only he can. But he's with Lana now, doing God only knows what (hopefully looking for Chloe, but Lois isn't kidding herself), and she does not want to run the risk of Lana misinterpreting things between the two of them. Not when it looks like things might actually work out for Clark and Lana, the star-crossed lovers of Central Kansas. Jesus. Lois could never live that one down.

She does compose a short text to him, though, just as she has every night since she arrived in Star City.

 _No change here. Have you heard from Chloe?_

Her phone pings with his reply after ten minutes, a full seven minutes later than it usually does. Not that she's been keeping track.

 _Nothing from Chloe. Thinking about you both._

"Are you really, Clark?" she whispers into the dimly lit hospital room before she curls her knees into her chest and falls into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Lois drags her fork lazily through her salad. "So, how is… Everyone?" She's nothing short of thrilled to have Chloe back and in Star City with her, but she misses Metropolis. And Smallville. The town, definitely not the person. Although if she did miss the person, it would be in a strictly platonic way.

"You mean, how is Clark?" Chloe raises her eyebrows and grins at her cousin's obvious discomfort. "You know, Lois, you _do_ own this nifty piece of technology called a cell phone that can connect you to people you want to check in with. Pretty cool stuff, actually."

"Ha-ha," Lois says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes. Then she shrugs. There's no point in lying to Chloe or herself. "I just didn't want to disturb him and his thing with Lana or whatever."

Chloe clears her throat. "Yeah, about that. I kind of took up for you on the Clark front…"

"What?" She nearly spits out the ranch-soaked bite of grilled chicken she's just taken. "What _exactly_ did you say?"

"I might have mentioned that I know first-hand how much it really sucks being the other sixty degrees in the Clark-Lana- _whoever_ triangle and that I wouldn't appreciate you getting hurt in all this."

"Oh, God…" She is mortified. The only thing worse than openly admitting her feelings for Clark is having her cousin do it to defend her honor. "You shouldn't have, Chlo. Seriously."

Chloe sets her fork back on the paper napkin beside her Styrofoam container and folds her fingers together. "Or maybe I did exactly what needed to happen, Lois. Look, Clark means well, and I think he really cares for you. But Lana…"

"—is Lana, and she'll always be the love of his life," Lois finishes, resting her head in her hands. "God, what the hell _happened_ to me? I'm not the girl who cares when…" She falters and pushes the plastic salad dish away from her in disgust.

"When her soul mate is in a relationship with someone else?"

Lois's jaw drops as she stares at Chloe. She's known for a while that there were feelings for Clark festering just under the surface, but _soul mate?_ She wouldn't go that far. Sure, there was that crazy jeweler and his weird _Saw_ -esque lie detector test that had made her confess her deepest, darkest secret to Clark… But she'd handled the situation, just like she always does, and she refuses to believe that Clark Kent is her _soul mate_.

"It's okay." Chloe reaches across the table and grasps Lois's hands. "Trust me, it's pretty obvious to _everyone_ but you two. Plus asking me at my wedding how I knew Jimmy was 'The One' while you looked all moony-eyed at Clark all day? Dead giveaway, cuz." She sits back in her chair and shrugs. "You're a reporter, Lois. You just don't ask that kind of question unless you're already pretty sure you know."

Appetite gone, Lois chews nervously on her bottom lip and remains quiet while she watches Chloe finish her lunch.

She doesn't speak again until they're on the elevator, on their way back up to the sixth floor ICU. "What's the difference between the love of your life and your soul mate?" Lois asks quietly. "Is there one?"

"There definitely is." Chloe turns and offers her a small smile. "One's your choice and the other isn't."

* * *

Chloe tries to convince her to return to Metropolis after Jimmy wakes up and starts his long road to a complete recovery, but Lois staunchly refuses. Oliver has put them up in a nice apartment and arranged with Tess to hold Lois's job until she can get back; Chloe brought a few suitcases full of Lois's clothes and toiletries; and frankly, Lois doesn't know if she can be in Clark's world as long as Lana is.

It's cowardly and she knows it, but she is nothing if she isn't good at running away from situations and people who make her uncomfortable and self-conscious, and Lana Lang does both of those things. Besides, with Chloe having to jet back and forth so often because of her work at the Isis Foundation, Lois feels a sort of obligation to sit by Jimmy's bedside while he recovers, even if all she does is watch soap operas, devour tabloids as quickly as she can read them, and work crossword puzzles.

Her phone buzzes against the window sill and her stomach automatically leaps into her throat. She keeps expecting Clark to call just to check in, let her know how work is going, even ask her how she's holding up… But he seems to have forgotten she even exists. She stopped texting him last week after the last three she sent went unanswered.

"Hey, Chlo," she answers, praying the disappointment in her voice isn't as obvious as she thinks it is.

"I could kill Clark," Chloe vents on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, well. Join the club," Lois quips, flipping a page in the most recent _Inquisitor._

"I'm sorry, I know you don't want to hear this."

She doesn't, but it seems like her cousin needs someone to talk to. "It's fine."

"Just why would you want to be with someone who is _obviously_ toxic?" Chloe voice rises in indignation. "I mean, Clark didn't grow the hell up until Lana went M-I-A and now that she's back, it's just like being in high school again and I swear to God, Lois, I don't need that kind of drama."

Lois clear her throat. "Did you tell Clark this?"

"Oh, I tried," Chloe continues without missing a beat. "But you know how I get when he looks at me with those giant green eyes. I ended up spinning it to a 'maybe you just grew up on your own' instead of a 'get the hell away from her before she kills you' kind of thing. Lana used to be my best friend and I still love the girl I just… _She's_ different this time around and I'm not sure it's a good thing."

Lois is a little taken aback by her cousin's vitriol. She's always been such a seemingly staunch supporter of Clark and Lana. "Whoa. Slow down. What exactly happened?"

Chloe sighs. "It's not important. What matters is that Lana is missing _again_ and Clark needs my help finding her so I don't know if I'm going to make it back tonight."

Lana is missing? There's a little part of her that's weirdly happy and she's embarrassed because it's such a hateful and petty reaction, especially to the disappearance of someone who used to be her friend. "Anything I can do?"

"Well, I'd say don't fall in love with my best friend, but I think it's too late for that."

"Oh, please. That is so last week." Lois forces a laugh, but her already raw feelings sting with her cousin's barb.

* * *

Lana is located and then disappears from Clark's life as unexpectedly as she arrived at the reception, but according to Chloe, she's left a massive trail of carnage in her wake, starting and ending with Clark Kent. Lois considers calling him, even going as far as to pick up her phone, scroll to his name in her contacts list, and let her thumb hover over the green call button. She can never make herself press it, though. Something about the move screams desperation, and if there's one thing Lois isn't, it's desperate. Clark will heal on his own time and they'll have to go from there.

Honestly, she's not even sure she didn't just imagine the whole infatuation thing. It had probably stemmed from the fact that she _was_ a little jealous that Chloe got married before she did and Clark just happened to be the man she was around most of the time. They were partners, for Christ's sake. She couldn't be in love with him. She loved her job and no one, especially not _Clark Kent_ was going to jeopardize that for her. So as she packs up her suitcases for her return trip to Metropolis, she brushes the whole thing off and decides to call Clark and ask him if he'll pick her up from the airport. As a friend, of course.

So once again, she fishes her phone from her pocket and scrolls through to Clark's name. This time, though, she doesn't hesitate to press the button.

She doesn't expect him to answer after the third ring with a sleep-infused hello.

"Smallville!" she chirps. Damn. Too cheery. He'll know something is up. "Hey, it's Lois." Well, duh.

"Lois?" She definitely woke him up. She can hear the bedsheets rustle around him as he sits up. She tries desperately not to think of what he's wearing. "Hi." He almost sounds happy to hear from her.

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm flying back in tomorrow and I was wondering if you could pick me up. I'd ask Chloe, but she's busy trying to get Jimmy's transfer to Met Gen confirmed and I—"

"What time?"

Lois releases a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. Good old dependable Clark. Her _friend_. "Eleven-thirty. I'll buy you lunch!" She realizes what it sounds like just after she offers. A date. So she hastily adds, "As a thank you. For driving me. I mean, it's not a date or whatever."

"Lunch sounds great," Clark says and she can practically see the small smile that he always gets when she can't seem to shut up. "There are, uh…" He clears his throat. "There are some things we should probably talk about."

Her heart leaps into her throat and her palms sweat. "Yeah…" she says softly. "Yeah, there probably are."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Bye."

It's the longest conversation they've had in a month and Lois knows immediately that she was kidding herself by pretending she'd imagined everything.

* * *

"So..." Lois drums her fingers nervously on her knees. The drive out of the maze-like Metropolis airport had taken almost half an hour longer than normal, due to a combination of the always heavy traffic worsened by the torrential downpour, and Clark's propensity to drive like an eighty-year-old man. Normally she'd be happy for the extra time, but try as she might, she can't engage him in conversation of any kind and it's really getting old.

He picked her up from the airport as promised, but rather than the tearful, romantic reunion she'd been hoping for, he'd tossed her a half-smile and pulled her against his side for the most awkward hug in history while he reached around her for her bags. He _had_ picked her up, though, and that was something.

She'd dreamt last night that Clark had forgotten her and she'd been left standing in a downpour, seething and cursing his name. Of course, she'd also dreamt that Clark told her he was an alien from another planet and asked her to out him to the entire world… As soon as she woke she swore off Indian food right before bed. It had all felt so _real_.

She'd tried making small talk about how happy she'll be when she gets settled back into work at the _Daily Planet_ ; about Chloe and Jimmy and how they'll finally get to have their happy ending; even about how much she's missed the smell of the hay fields at the farm; but Clark just stared passively ahead at the road and responded occasionally with a grunt or a sigh or a nod of his head. For someone who so desperately wanted to speak to her last night, he isn't exactly holding up his end of the conversation.

"So," she starts again. "What's for lunch?"

He shrugs. "Maybe we should take a rain check? I had a really big breakfast…"

"Oh." She'd purposefully forgone her yogurt because she was so looking forward to the pasta from her favorite restaurant a few blocks from the _Daily Planet_ office.

"We can pick something up and take it back if you want," he stammers. "It's just… I have this deadline…"

"No, no, it's fine." She wishes he could have at least decided on one story before he'd lied to her.

They bounce along the streets for a few more awkwardly silent moments. He hasn't even turned on the radio to cut some of the quiet.

Finally, she can't take it anymore. "Well, here we are… The two of us… Trapped together in a moving vehicle for an extended period of time…"

He grunts. Fantastic.

"I'm just saying, if two people, such as ourselves, needed to have a conversation, there wouldn't be a better time…"

He sucks in a deep breath. "Right. There was the… thing we needed to talk about."

"I'm all ears." Lois steels herself. This is where their relationship changes… One way or the other.

Careful not to look away from the road, Clark opens and closes his mouth several times, like he can't decide on exactly the words to say. After a few moments, he stretches his hand toward her, but then, like he's changed his mind at the last moment, rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"Yeah, Tess has a pretty big assignment for us this week," he says. "You picked a good time to come back."

She scoffs, not the least bit convinced. "And?"

"And…" he continues slowly, "I'm just glad you're back to help me out. The bullpen really isn't the same without Lois Lane." He turns toward her and flashes her a smile. "So. How about lunch? You want to stop at that Italian place by the _Planet_?"

"No." She leans her head against the cool glass of the window and watches the water-logged citizens of Metropolis rush down the sidewalks. "Can't keep Tess waiting. Let's get to work."

* * *

She has to be the biggest idiot of all time. That's the only way to describe the temporary insanity that had come over her once they'd arrived back at the _Daily Planet_ and she'd practically begged him to talk about everything that had happened at the wedding reception from hell. Then she'd seen the tortured look in his eyes and reneged on her words and had been strangely disappointed when he'd agreed that maybe it was best that they just left things as they were. _Then_ she'd gone and invited him to get coffee with her. Okay, not really _invited_. Just hinted heavily that she would _really_ like it if he came and that she would almost definitely consider it a silent admission of his feelings for her and think of it as their first date for the rest of her life.

Lois takes a long drink of her cappuccino when it finally arrives. She has to be the world's most pathetic, biggest idiot. Because not only did she actually _do_ all of those things, but she'd actually decided to come to the café and sit out here in plain sight and wait for him. _And_ now she's disappointed that he hasn't shown yet.

"Idiot," she murmurs and checks the time on her phone again. She's exhausted after her flight and then working for half a day, all the while trying to avoid Clark at every turn, and all she wants is to go to bed, but there's a tiny part of her that thinks maybe Clark won't let her down. That maybe they can salvage whatever weird thing this is.

Her stomach somersaults wildly when her phone buzzes against the table. _Clark._

 _Sorry swamped with work, can't make it._

She can't say she's surprised. He was so weird on the drive and then all day at work… And maybe she was expecting too much considering everything he's been through with Lana recently. _Idiot._ She sighs and shakes her head in disbelief at her stupidity as she types out her response.

 _Chasing a lead, couldn't make it anyway._

* * *

Coffee after work was a terrible idea for many reasons, the biggest one being that it's almost two in the morning and Lois is still lying wide awake in bed. Of course, she isn't completely sure if it's due to the coffee or the rejection; both still burn hot in her veins. She's just lucky Chloe isn't home tonight. She never would have been able to explain the dried tracks from the stupid tears she'd shed from sheer embarrassment on her drive home.

She rubs her forehead in frustration and then swings her legs out of bed, slides her feet into her slippers, and pads into the kitchen, on the hunt for something sweet and chocolatey and laden with calories. She finds an abandoned package of Ding Dongs on the third shelf of the pantry and tears into it greedily as she perches on a barstool.

"Idiot…" she mutters to herself as she finishes off the second snack cake and wipes her fingers on a napkin.

Then there's a knock on the door and all of her senses heighten immediately. Who the hell is knocking on her door at two in the morning? She tiptoes over and presses her eye to the peep hole.

"Clark?" Lois twists the deadbolt and slides the chain out of place. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks as she opens the door and he steps into the apartment.

"Chloe and Jimmy are gone, right?" He peers around the corner frantically.

"Yeah, she's staying at the hospital with him tonight. Why?" She crosses her arms over her chest. The tank top she sleeps in doesn't leave a whole lot to the imagination.

"I needed to talk to you," he says quietly, sitting on the couch, "but I didn't want an audience. I love Chloe but…"

"Yeah, I get it." Lois sits at the other end of the couch and crosses her arms more tightly, as if she can compress herself to keep him as far away from her as possible. She has no idea what's left to say between them. She thinks he made his feelings for her perfectly clear when he blew her off.

"Lois, I'm sorry I left you sitting at the café tonight."

It isn't the first time she's wondered if maybe he can read her mind, but it is the first time she's allowed herself to react before she tamps down her emotions. Her jaw falls open and she stammers. "I-I wasn't… I mean, you got my text, right?"

Clark shakes his head and laces his fingers together. "No, Lois, I saw you there. I went. I wanted to go in and sit with you but I just…" He sighs. "I couldn't."

"Because of Lana." She says and then becomes suddenly fascinated with an imaginary flaw in the throw rug under the coffee table. She's afraid that if she looks up or speaks, the heavy tears that pool in her eyes will splash down her cheeks. She may have cried in her car earlier, but General Sam Lane's daughter doesn't let anyone _see_ her cry.

"I can't explain what happened between Lana and me, but I can tell you that you weren't imagining things between us at the wedding. Or at all. You…" He takes a deep breath. "I did have feelings for you, Lois. I _do._ "

Her breath catches in her throat and she dares to glance up at him. He's still sitting on the end of the couch, his hands still folded together neatly, but he's looking at her earnestly, like he's waiting for her permission to continue with his confession.

"I _still_ do," he repeats when she refuses to move, turning his hands over and over in the space between his knees. "I just don't know what they mean. I thought I was over her, I did, but then she came back and you left and I just…"

Lois exhales sharply through her nose. "So what, you weren't sure which of us you liked better, but since she was around and I ran away, you chose her? That's stupid."

"I know how this sounds." He rubs his hands on his jean-clad thighs. "I just thought you deserved to know… Now that she's gone."

She pushes herself to her feet and walks back and forth in front of the coffee table a few times, trying to come to terms with everything. Earlier this afternoon she'd been ready to accept any kind of relationship Clark would offer her, short of mortal enemies, of course. But now… Now that he's here and looks absolutely miserable and keeps talking about how _hard_ the decision between her and Lana was when he couldn't even be bothered to text her back, she's furious with him.

"That makes me what?" she asks. "The prize behind curtain number two? The back-up plan? What did you think? 'Oh, poor Lois. She'll always be there, pining away for me, just waiting for me to realize that she's alive—'"

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"You can't just come here and ask me to be with you until Lana gets back into town again. That's not enough for me, Clark."

"That isn't what I'm asking. And she isn't coming back this time," he replies, and it takes her by surprise that he's so absolutely sure of the statement. "She's gone."

She could punch him. It's no wonder Chloe had been so frustrated when she'd called all those weeks ago. Clark and Lana were a walking soap opera. And while Lois enjoyed watched the occasional dramatic love triangle unfold on television, she knows without a doubt that she doesn't want to live one, even if the other point is supposedly out of the picture.

"So what do you want, Clark?" She throws her hands up in question. "What do you want from _me_?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie," she spits. "You don't come to someone's apartment at two in the morning to 'talk' if you don't want anything."

"I…" He falters and shakes his head in defeat.

"You see, this is where we're different," she says quietly, stopping in front of him, the coffee table between them a pretty good representation of the chasm she feels is opening. "You're afraid to say what you want."

"I'm afraid of hurting you."

She laughs, a high, mirthless chuckle. "Well, you're about a month too late for that."

The air around them is heavy and palpable and she feels like she can sense things in super high-definition. The heavy clock in the corner ticks more loudly than normal, the pipes groan more frequently, the Christmas lights strung up randomly around the apartment shine brighter. _Adrenaline_ , she tells herself. But she can't help but wonder if all momentous events feel like this as they're happening. Because she knows without a doubt that this night will change the course of their relationship forever and she's not sure she's prepared for this new direction.

Clark sighs heavily. "I just need some time, Lois. I need to figure out what I really want, how I really feel… About a lot of things."

She wants to hate him, to throw him out of her apartment and tell her never to speak to her again. She wants to march into Tess Mercer's office tomorrow morning and demand a new partner so that she never has to look at Clark again for the rest of her life, never has to watch him mark-up her articles with a red felt-tip pen while he sucks air through the cap he holds in his teeth just because he knows it drives her crazy.

But she watches as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth and rubs his hands together nervously and suddenly Chloe's words to her on the elevator make perfect sense.

 _One isn't your choice._

Damn it.

"I know," she says softly and falls onto the couch. "I think maybe we both need some time. How about we table this discussion until a later date?"

Clark nods and holds out his hand to her. "Can we be friends in the meantime?"

She shakes her head, but take his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Oh, Smallville. We always were."

* * *

She marches into Tess Mercer's office first thing the next morning, but it isn't because she's looking for a new partner.

"I know I just got back, but I need an assignment," Lois tells her editor. "Preferably one that isn't in Metropolis."

Tess nods. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Two hours later, she's nestled into the window seat of the first plane to Chicago.

She tries not to think about Clark.

Like usual, she fails miserably.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you!


	9. 79) When

**A/N:** Please note that this story takes place sometime between episodes 9x16 ("Escape") and 9x18 ("Upgrade"). Please enjoy!

* * *

She has to stop coming to the Kent Farm for dinner every night, that's all there is to it. Because dinner inevitably leads to a movie, which leads to kissing, which leads to their shirts on the floor, Lois in Clark's lap, and just last week, a hickey the size of Kansas just over the pulse point on her neck. She's had to wake up early every damn day just to style her hair over it so it isn't glaringly obvious that they're behaving like two insatiable teenagers. They've been watching the same terrible Judd Apatow movie for two weeks now and neither one of them can tell you what happens after the first ten minutes.

It's a dangerous game they're playing, especially when Lois is the one constantly reminding him that they have to take things slowly. It's hard to keep focused, though, when his hands are somehow everywhere and nowhere at once.

He kisses her hungrily, teeth nipping gently at her bottom lip before his lips envelop it fully, as if to apologize for the momentary discomfort. She's sitting on his lap, thighs on either side of his, her hands locked on the sides of his neck. She sighs. He moans. Then he moves his hands from her hips to the button of her jeans.

Lois pulls away from him and sweeps her hair off her neck. "I should go…" she says quietly and begins to extricate herself from his lap.

She wants him. _God_ , does she want him, but she hasn't had the best record when it comes to guys and falling into bed with them at the first convenient time. They'd gotten close a few weeks ago at the McDougal Inn and she'd really thought they were ready. But then she'd started thinking that running into Chloe and Oliver and then being possessed by an evil banshee was a sign that they _weren't_. Normally she wouldn't pay any attention to the signs; but she wants it to be different with Clark because deep down she knows that he is absolutely it for her. So when it happens, she wants it to be completely perfect.

He sighs as she slips her purple oxford shirt over her shoulders. "Lois, don't you think this is a little silly? We're not teenagers. My parents aren't going to walk in any minute."

"No, they aren't," she admits. "But we've talked about this and we agreed to take things slowly."

" _You_ talked about it…" Clark grumbles, but he shoots her a half-smile as he shifts his weight on the couch.

She feels bad because she really hadn't given him much of a say in the matter after their disastrous first weekend away together. Instead, she's been her usual bossy self ever since and nipped any of his attempts at advanced intimacy in the bud before they can really get started.

When she finishes buttoning her shirt, she sinks onto the couch cushion beside him and places her hand on the top of his thigh. "I just want to be careful."

His cheeks burn red. "Lois, I have pro—"

"Not like that!" she adds quickly, realizing a second too late how her words could be interpreted. "I want to be careful about _us_. I need to know for sure…"

He tilts his head in confusion.

"Ugh, this isn't coming out right." She rubs her face in frustration. "I want it to be perfect and I'm just…"

"Scared?" he supplies.

Lois nods with wide eyes.

He shrugs and winds his fingers through hers. "I'm scared, too. I haven't been with anyone other than Lana and—" He stops short.

Her breath catches in her throat. Clark never mentions Lana anymore and she's grateful for that. They've only ever partially dealt with everything that happened between them and Lois would be lying if she said she wasn't still a little bothered by how easily he'd shaken her off when Lana had waltzed back into town the night of Chloe's wedding reception. What's to say he wouldn't choose Lana over her again if given the choice? No one has seen or heard from her since and Lois desperately wants to believe that she's out of their lives forever. But she has never been an optimist.

"Is…" he begins shakily, tracing circles on the inside of her palm with his thumb. "Is that why you don't want to? Because I don't have a laundry list of ex-lovers? You think I won't be… Good?"

She knows Clark isn't terribly experienced, but that's never bothered her. And if his kissing is any indication of what's to come, he's a damn natural. She studies him for a moment, drinking in every part of him that she loves with her entire heart.

It's a terrible idea, she knows this, but Lois insinuates herself back in his lap and kisses him deeply, savoring the seemingly perfect way they fit together.

"Not even a little bit, Smallville," she answers him. "Now stop overthinking and kiss me."

* * *

It's a little after one in the morning when she finally comes up for air long enough to realize that she _really_ needs to get back to the Talon.

But Clark is persistent. Even as she pushes back from him, his mouth latches onto the delicate patch of skin just above the valley of her cleavage. Goddamn it. If he doesn't stop—and soon—she's going to abandon every single one of her morals and jump him on the couch. That's probably exactly what he wants.

"I have to go," she says firmly, twining her fingers in his thick hair and tugging gently.

His arms tighten around her waist. "Stay," he says so quietly she almost misses it. "Please? Stay?" His second request is louder, more powerful.

But she has to sleep at some point and if she doesn't get off this couch, that's never going to happen.

She shakes her head, pulling the two halves of her shirt together. At least she'd managed to keep it on this time. "I can't… We're taking it slow, remember?"

"Lois, come on. It's late. Just stay here."

She sighs and buttons up her shirt. "This is the part where you walk me to the door and kiss me goodnight and tell me to call when I get home and that you'll pick me up tomorrow morning." She retrieves her purse from the coffee table and crosses her arms, waiting for him to join her.

When they reach the kitchen door, he pulls her into him and kisses her chastely. "Stay," he says softly when their lips part. "Please. No strings, no expectations."

"I don't have any clothes here." Maybe he'll listen to reason if nothing else.

He shrugs. "So you'll borrow pajamas from what my mom left, and we'll swing by the Talon tomorrow morning. You can shower and get ready there while I get us breakfast. I know how much you love a Talon cappuccino."

She purses her lips and shakes her head. It's so tempting… She does sleep better in his arms than she does alone. That much had been clear from just the two nights they spent together.

"I just…" Clark fingers the ends of her hair gently. "I want to hold you, Lois. I want to feel you against me all night. I want to listen to you breathe. I want to wake up beside you in the morning and kiss you awake and tell you every second of every day how much you mean to me. Because now that I have you, I don't ever want to let you go. Not for a whole night. Not even for a whole minute."

 _Goddamn it._

She bites her lip and studies his face. His lips are swollen and plump from their marathon make-out session, stubble ghosts across his chin, and his eyes are wide and pleading. She feels her resolve start to crumble. It _is_ late and although the drive across town to the Talon doesn't take long, she'll probably be able to get more sleep in Clark's bed than in her own. It won't be the first time they've shared a bed in the most innocent of ways, and she trusts Clark more than anyone she's ever met. She knows that even though the waiting is practically killing them both, he'll respect her wishes to keep things chaste. Honestly, she's more worried about herself being able to control her impulses.

"Okay," she relents, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "But I'm not sleeping in one of your mother's nightgowns."

* * *

Undoubtedly, one of the greatest things about sharing a bed with Clark is how she can sink completely into the way he smells. Lois had gotten whiffs of him at the inn, but it had been just like when they sneak kisses in the copy room or on the elevator-tempting, but not nearly what she craves. Now that she's snuggled in his softest plaid shirt, wrapped in his muscular arms, and between his sheets, it's simply intoxicating. She'd fallen in love with his scent years ago during her first night at the Kent Farm, but she'd denied loving it so much for years. She'd been such a fool.

She twists around in his embrace until she faces him. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but he still smiles sleepily at her.

"Hi," he mumbles.

"Thank you, Clark."

"For what?"

"For waiting." She strokes his cheek. "For being willing to wait until I'm ready. A lot of guys wouldn't have and it just… It means a lot."

Clark smiles at her and then his forehead creases in that adorable way it always does when he's thinking too hard about something. "Not that I don't appreciate the honor, but why am I different? Why is it so important that it be perfect for us?"

"Because," she says simply, "you are the one. You're my last first kiss, my last first… Everything." She laughs at herself, flips onto her back, and loops her hair around her ears. "Jesus, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't," he counters before he grips her face and kisses her softly. "You're my last first, too. You're most definitely worth waiting for. And I meant what I said—if it means I get to be with you, I will wait forever."

The first time he said it, she'd blushed uncontrollably and mumbled something about forever being a very long time. Tonight, however, as electricity trickles up and down her spine and he kisses her until she's breathless and dizzy, forever doesn't seem long enough.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much!


	10. 10) Years

**A/N:** This one is especially for Monkey D. Conan, who brought up this classic trope and thought I could have fun with it. I definitely did, and I hope you all do too. :)

* * *

Lois doesn't like the way this advertising specialist keeps looking at Clark. She wouldn't say she's jealous, exactly, because Lois Lane does _not_ get jealous, especially when there's a sparkly, expensive, _gorgeous_ diamond ring on her finger that reminds her every day just how secure she is in her relationship. But this one, this _Sara_ girl just rubs her the wrong way. Of course, it could be because every time she finishes talking to Clark—which, really, what business does Clark Kent have with _advertising_?—she hugs him tightly and her hands always slip a little too close to his ass for Lois's liking.

Clark is completely oblivious, of course. "She's just friendly," he said last night after Lois had jerked him into her office, irate because Sara had once again practically groped him in the bullpen. Seriously, it's like now that they aren't officially desk partners, everyone has forgotten they're engaged.

She scoffed. "Clark, that hug was more erotic than our movie nights."

His eyes widened, no doubt remembering the ice cream toppings she brought to their latest viewing of a movie neither one of them remembers. Then he smiled knowingly at her. "You're jealous."

"That is so not..." She crossed her arms. "No. I'm not jealous."

"Okay, good, because you have nothing to worry about." He grinned. "But if you _were_ a little jealous, it would be kind of hot."

Despite his flirtatious reassurance, she ignored him and feigned sleep when he crawled into bed, kissed her neck, and nibbled on her earlobe as his hands ghosted across her sides. After almost five minutes of his sweet, sweet torture, she'd almost relented, but she'd squeezed her knees tightly together and waited until he sighed and kissed her cheek softly before pulling the blankets over himself and falling asleep.

She may not need to worry, but she sure as hell doesn't have to be happy about this whole thing.

And _then_ he accepted this morning when Sara asked him to lunch! And when Lois had casually mentioned that she would just tag along, he did that thing where he turns really red and tugs uncomfortably at his collar and mumbles until she changes her mind or grabs his arm and does what she wants anyway. When she'd suggested the bumbling reporter secret identity thing all those months ago, she didn't know she'd be creating a monster.

Luckily for him (and Sara), Lois has a one-on-one interview with the governor this afternoon to prepare for and she had already planned to have a sandwich at her desk today while she reviews her notes. Of course, she'd also planned on having Clark for dessert… But desserts always go straight to your hips and she _definitely_ does not have time for that.

She tries to remind herself that Clark is in love with and engaged to _her_. He's just being nice to Sara. Of course he said he would have lunch with her; he knows how busy Lois is today and Sara probably didn't have anyone else to eat with. Clark Kent is a good guy. But he's _her_ good guy and Sara would do well to remember that.

Damn it. She is totally jealous.

She picks at her sandwich without really tasting it and leaves for her interview before Clark and Sara return from lunch.

* * *

Her interview with the governor goes off without a hitch and she is once again grateful for a job that she loves—and kicks ass at—to distract her from all the crazy in her life, most of which is associated with Clark. Not that she'd have it any other way, of course.

She returns to the _Planet_ a little before five and stops by Clark's desk to check in before she barricades herself in her office to write her story before Perry puts the paper to bed for the night. She's in such a good mood that she's practically already decided to have sex with him tonight. Sara the Advertiser be damned, Lois deserves an orgasm.

His desk chair is empty, though, and his jacket and briefcase are both gone. To make matters worse, Cat Grant is sitting at Lois's old desk, twirling a pink feathered pen between her fingers. "Looking for Clark?" Cat chirps.

"Clearly." Lois doesn't try to mask the acid in her tone.

Cat leans forward and grins wickedly. "Well. I was wondering if there was something up between the two of you because he's been spending an awful lot of time with Sara from advertising… And he took off with her for lunch and _never came back_." Cat sits back in her chair, happy that her barb has been successfully delivered, and watches for Lois's reaction.

"Yeah, they're friends." She _will not_ give Cat the satisfaction of seeing her upset, though, so she shrugs, spins on her four-inch stilettoes and marches back to her office.

She's going to kill him.

* * *

She writes her story in record time and then spends the rest of the evening texting Chloe as she watches episode after episode of some TV show on Netflix that is just interesting enough to be distracting. She knows she has to go home eventually, but she isn't looking forward to seeing Clark again because the only words she has for him are words she never thought she'd have to say.

Around eight, her phone rings. _Clark_.

She slides her thumb across the screen to unlock it and presses the device to her ear. "Lois Lane."

"Um, h-hi," he stammers, no doubt taken aback by the icy way she'd answered. "Hey, it's Clark. Listen, I could use your help in the copy room if you aren't too busy."

Lois studies her fingernails. "Where's Sara? She isn't around to help you?"

He sighs on the other end of the line. "Okay, you're still pissed about that, but just—"

"'Pissed,' Clark?" She stands up from her chair, free hand balled into a fist, and paces. "I am not 'pissed.' I'm _furious_ , I'm _livid,_ I'm—Okay fine. I'm coming down there. We need to have this conversation in person." She disconnects the call and marches to the elevator, jamming the button four times with her thumb as if it will make the car arrive any faster. When the doors finally slide open and she presses the button for the copy room, she forces herself to take in a few deep breaths. Berating Clark the first time she spoke to him wasn't _exactly_ how she planned to handle this whole thing. She'd planned to bring up the subject quietly and calmly, because as passionate and fiery as she is, she doesn't want to come across as the crazy, jealous girlfriend. Although, clearly, she is.

The elevator dings, indicating her arrival to the copy room and she swallows hard before she steps out.

Clark stands just in front of the elevator, his hands shoved in his pockets, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up around his elbows, exposing his forearms. He knows that drives her crazy. "Lois," he greets her softly and opens his arms to her.

She holds out her hands, heading off his advances, and steps around him so that she's facing the elevator. Lois is the queen of quick escapes. "No. I have something I need to say first."

"If you'll just let me explain about Sara—"

"All right, look, Smallville." Lois jumps in because if she doesn't get this out immediately, if she steps into his arms and lets him kiss her, she may never find the strength to do what needs to be done. "I know you have this whole perfect male physique thing going on… Must be nice to not have to care about calories and fat. And, I mean, look at you—you're like six-feet-something of delicious double fudge brownie chunk ice cream walking around and, hey, what girl can refuse double fudge brownie?"

"Lois…" he says quietly.

She plows ahead. "And I get that you're hot, what with the pecs and the arms and the perfect teeth and piercing eyes and the hair that just _does_ that thing…" Her hands flap uselessly in the air as she describes the physical attributes she'd fallen for at nineteen, long before she was ready to admit it, and even longer before she knew there was anything deeper buried under the surface. "And yes, I knew that inevitably other women would take notice and maybe try to seduce you. I just didn't think I would go as crazy over it as I did. But I won't apologize. Because okay, I'm not blonde and short and adorable—"

"Lois…"

"Let me finish. As much as I try to convince myself that you're just being nice because that's what you _do_ …" She pauses momentarily and shakes her head. "Look, here's the point: I wake up every day and look in the mirror and wonder what you're doing with me when you can walk outside and have literally anyone you want. So, if you want to see other people, I understand." A giant lump rises in her throat as she slides the most perfect diamond ring from her finger and holds it out to Clark.

Clark chuckles a little and rubs his forehead. "Lois, put the ring back on."

She furrows her brow, but does as he says.

"Lois… Sara works in advertising and because she has so many contacts, she was able to help me with something… For you. You don't need to worry about me wanting anyone else. It's you. It's always been you, and it always will be." He steps to her and she can't make herself back away. She's always felt more at home in Clark's arms than anywhere else and as upset as she's been all day, the only thing she's wanted is for him to tell her everything is going to be okay. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Turn around."

His hands slide to her waist and she pivots in his arms. She'd come off the elevator so quickly she hadn't noticed that the lights in the copy room are dimmed, or that there are tiny twinkling fairy lights strung all over the walls, or that there are dozens of white roses scattered around the room, or that a small café table is set against the far wall in front of a back drop of giant gold confetti pieces.

"Clark…" she breathes as she takes in everything from the champagne chilling in an ice bucket to the white linen cloth that covers the table. She can't believe she was ever mad at him.

Clark grins widely. "Happy anniversary, Lois."

As much as she appreciates the effort, his words confuse her. They haven't been engaged for a year yet, and they celebrated the one-year mark of their first official 'I love yous' a few weeks ago. She's never been good with dates.

"Not that I'm trying to kill the mood," she says, "but which anniversary are we talking about here?"

"Well…" He wraps his arms around her waist, takes her hand in his, and slowly begins to pivot her around in circles. "A year ago today, here in this very room… I wrapped your hand up after Cat stabbed you…" He kisses the scar on her hand. "And then you convinced me that you were absolutely the person I am meant to be with for the rest of my life… And then I told you that I was the Blur. Ringing any bells?"

How could she have forgotten? Clark had admitted his secret and then she'd jumped on him and knocked him into the bags of shredded paper—that explained the gold confetti on the wall then. She loves that Clark doesn't forget anything.—and then they'd stayed up all night at the Kent Farm talking about Krypton and his origins between stolen kisses. _How could she have forgotten?_

She kisses him solidly and sighs into his open mouth. How is it that she falls more in love with him every single day?

"So I guess I'm forgiven for the past few days?" he says around her lips as they work a trail down his jawbone.

"Mmhmm," she mumbles again his neck.

"Lois, I want this as badly as you do, but dinner's going to get cold."

"It'll keep," she says as she works a few of the buttons open and slips a hand beneath his shirt. "You're the most romantic person I've ever met, Clark Kent. And I love you."

"I love you, too." Clark hoists her up around his waist and kisses her. "And do me a favor: don't ever take that ring off again."

"Deal." She smiles. "But you know you've set yourself up for failure, right?"

"How so?" He cocks his head at her in question.

"Because it's going to be really hard to top this every year."

He grins. "Challenge gladly accepted."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for reading!


	11. 97) Writer's Choice: Dreams

**A/N:** Please note that this story takes place during episode 5x04 "Aqua" and that some dialogue is lifted directly from the episode. Additionally, things take more of an adult turn here, so be advised if that's not something you particularly enjoy.

* * *

The first time he dreams of Lois in _that way_ , he's more than a little taken aback. Lana is most definitely the star of most of his nighttime fantasies. Other girls—Alicia, Desiree, Abby, even Chloe—have made appearances as well. But this is _Lois_ and he doesn't even like her that much, he _especially_ doesn't like her like _that_ , so it makes absolutely zero sense that she's showing up in his subconscious, crawling across his bed in a red lace bra, an indescribably sexy pout across her full lips.

"I've wanted this for so long, Clark," dream-Lois whispers, reaching out a hand and running it over his suddenly bare dream-chest. "We're perfect together."

And then she straddles him and dream-Clark kisses her hard and his hands find her waist. Then dream-Lois is writhing beneath him, and her face contorts in pleasure as she gasps his name and clutches his back with her fingernails.

Clark, real-Clark, sits straight up in bed, drenched in sweat. His clock glows 4:45 and he has just enough time for a cold shower before he has to start his morning chores. Embarrassed by his obvious arousal, Clark bundles his clothes at his waist and sneaks across the hall to the bathroom where he turns the tap on full blast and steps into the icy spray.

Unfortunately, having invincible skin means that the cool water does nothing to assuage his feelings and before he knows it, he's remembering his dream and the way her greenish-brown eyes had darkened when she—

 _No._

To his dismay, there seems to be only one way to rid himself of this problem before chores. He conjures up one of Lana's many appearances in his dreams and grasps himself firmly, moving his hand slowly up and down his shaft.

It works for a while. But as his hand moves faster and his movements become more hurried, his concentration on Lana slips and he's thinking about Lois again—her mouth and her fingernails in his skin and the way she'd looked up at him as he had moved within her.

He finishes with a low moan and stands under the running water for a few extra minutes, trying to catch his breath.

* * *

Lois is in Europe until the end of the year—that's the only thing that gives him solace as he feeds and milks the cows, gathers the morning's eggs from the chicken coop, and races down to the back forty to repair a faulty stretch of fence. Lois is in Europe and even if she weren't, no one is privy to his dreams—and humiliating moments of weakness in the shower—but him, so he's finally able to relax a little when Lana calls and invites him to a gathering at the lake later today.

Things with Lana are _good_ , better than he'd ever hoped for, actually, and for the first time he feels like he might be able to get everything he wants… If he can just figure out how to control himself so he can be with her in _every_ way. His dream about Lois is a fluke, a one-time thing. He _doesn't_ think of her like that and it's not like he can choose who he dreams of.

Clark finishes his chores and gulps down his breakfast before Lana picks him up in her Jeep and they take off for Crater Lake.

* * *

 _She's supposed to be in Europe_ , so imagine his surprise when Lois shows up at the lake in a red bikini so tiny it shouldn't even count as clothing, a beach bag swung over her shoulder, and a smug expression on her lips. Lips he'd dreamed of kissing and nibbling and… Well. Those lips had played a leading role in last night's dream.

He must look as remorseful as he feels when he spies her walking across the beach with Chloe. He jerks away from Lana and Lois smirks and tells him not to look so guilty. She means for kissing his girlfriend in front of her, and she means it as a joke, but he's still mortified.

Lana, of course, has no idea that the blush that colors his cheeks was there before Lois had implied that he and Lana were… well, you know, and greets her good-naturedly. He's thrilled when she brings up the fact that Lois is randomly stateside so he doesn't have to. Instead he makes some lame-ass cracks about hoping he wouldn't have to deal with her again until after Christmas and smothering her with a pillow because _his own mother_ has betrayed his trust and offered up his bed to her. A bed that, as soon as he figures out how not to kill her, he hopes to invite Lana back into very shortly.

Maybe that will take care of these annoying dreams.

Then Lois has to go and smile knowingly at him and tell him to get busy with Lana all he wants—she's a heavy sleeper—and he's reminded of the way dream-Lois had grinned at him as she touched him and kissed him and worked him into a frenzy. Then she hands her bag to Chloe and says she's going for a swim and he's both grateful to have her gone and terrified that he won't be able to control his _physical_ reaction when he sees her dripping wet in that tiny bathing suit. Not when the images from his dreams still seem burned into his memory.

He is so happy when Lana wanders off to talk to some friends across the beach.

To distract himself from Lois, he turns his back to the water and talks to Chloe about just how slowly things are progressing with Lana now that he has his powers back. He's vaguely aware of the boys around him ogling Lois—seriously, how is that bathing suit even legal?—but he pays them no mind. He'd be perfectly fine ignoring that she was even there if Chloe didn't grab his arm and nod as her cousin perches on the diving platform in the middle of the lake.

"Lois was the state champion diver in Oklahoma her freshman year, right before they moved to Metropolis," Chloe boasts. "She's pretty impressive. You should watch."

He does watch as she bends her knees and jumps off. He also notices immediately that she over-rotates, but she slices through the water cleanly so he doesn't start to worry until Chloe shakes her head.

"Something's wrong. She's been under way too long."

Clark's heart jumps into his throat and he _knows_ he need to run out and find her, pull her to shore, and make sure she's all right. But he's frozen in fear that he can't quite explain. Not Lois… It can't be Lois.

"Go!" Chloe shoves him forward and he has to concentrate hard on maintaining a normal human speed when really all he wants is to run as fast as possible to get to her more quickly. What if he's already too late? What if she's already gone?

Not Lois… Not Lois…

He's grateful when he hits the water and can propel himself far more quickly than a human. It isn't as fast as he'd like, it isn't as fast as he can run through a corn field, but it's enough, even if he can't keep awful thoughts from creeping into his head. _I'm too late. She's gone. Lois is dead._

Clark is knocked off his path by _something_ strong and fast and he stops in shock just short of where she floats because she _isn't_ floating—she's being held in someone's arms. It's strange because they're just floating there, but what's even stranger is that this person isn't struggling to breathe. Clark can do a lot of things, but he still needs oxygen, although far less than a human, and his lungs burn in want of fresh air. This blond guy holding Lois actually grins at him before he jets away—much faster than what Clark could manage—leaving him awash in the strong current.

Who is this guy? _What_ is he?

But there'll be time for all that later. Right now he's grateful for that stranger, because it might mean the difference for Lois.

He shakes his head and kicks to the surface of the water. As he swims in to shore, he keeps an eye on Lois, visible because of that damn red bikini. Lana is by her side with Chloe, and the blond rescue guy is bent over her, his hands dangerously close to the swell of her breasts. Clark kicks harder and makes it to shore just in time to see blond rescue guy bend to kiss her.

No. Not kiss her. CPR. Mouth-to-mouth. _Lois isn't breathing._

His stomach lurches and he watches with bated breath until Lois turns her head and spits out a mouthful of dirty lake water with a sputter. He sighs in relief and runs a hand through his water-logged hair.

Blond rescue guy gingerly helps her to her feet and Lana rushes in immediately to escort a still very disoriented Lois to her car. Chloe meets Clark's eyes in question, but he just shrugs. He has no idea where his guy came from or who he is… Or how he seems to swim like an actual fish. The unusualness of it all bothers him, of course, but this is _Smallville_ , after all, so another meteor-infested person to deal with means it must be a day that ends in 'Y.' What's important now is that Lois is okay and on her way back to the farm to recuperate.

He still doesn't like the blond guy. Mostly Clark doesn't like the way his arms drape around Lois's shoulders and trail along her bare back as he helps her into Lana's car because it reminds him too much of the dream he can't forget.

* * *

Lois is his friend and his concern is strictly platonic. He's with Lana and Lana is perfect. _They_ are perfect. Even so, he can't seem to support this Lois and A.C. thing, probably because it's happening in _his_ house, possibly even _his bed_ , and it rubs him the wrong way. But it absolutely, under _no_ circumstances has anything to do with his dream about Lois.

Chloe's search turns up nothing of import, with the mild exception of him breaking and entering to release all those dolphins. He even lets her think that she's right when she mentions that maybe he's jealous that someone else is playing the hero card. Truthfully, he isn't sure what about Arthur Curry gives him the willies, because it definitely doesn't have anything to do with Lois.

Unless maybe he's worried that she's going to get burned. The last thing he wants is for Lois to get hurt simply because he doesn't think he can handle the gallons of ice cream and weeks of self-loathing that would involve.

Still, when A.C. is sitting at the bar at the Talon, enthralling _everyone_ and drinking an unusual amount of water, Clark can't help himself—he grills him about the University of Miami and swimming, trying to catch him in a lie. Lois's eyes narrow and he knows he's about to get in trouble. Nevertheless, he can't make himself stop. There's something up with this guy, and if no one else is going to believe him—not even Chloe, who's almost always down for theories of the bizarre—then it's up to him to prove to everyone that Arthur isn't to be trusted.

He isn't a bit surprised when Lois pulls him over to the side and berates him for questioning her new boyfriend. What does surprise him is that she refers to Clark as her "brother." It makes his stomach flip uncomfortably, because if Lois sees him as her little brother, then he should probably think of her as an annoying older sister, which makes his dream about her all the more disturbing. He wishes he could just squelch the visions from his brain with acid.

He should be happy for her. So he quietly decides that maybe he should cool the third degree as long as Lois is around and until he has something concrete on this odd Arthur Curry.

But that doesn't mean he trusts him or that he's going to stop looking.

* * *

Clark knew she'd be mad as hell when she found out that he not only followed A.C., but also saw him attempt to set a bomb. Of course, he makes up some story about how the fuse was faulty because the explosive was homemade, but she's less concerned about how Clark survived and more about why he thought it would be okay to spy on Arthur.

He shrugs and mumbles something about just not trusting him and she laughs sarcastically and crosses her arms over her chest before she tells him that it looks like he's jealous.

Jealous. Really. Clark Kent jealous because _Lois_ is dating someone? Yeah, right. They're like brother and sister, that's all. Annoyingly over-protective and weirdly supportive of one another, regardless of how messed up the circumstance is.

But then he remembers walking in on A.C. kissing Lois in the living room a few days ago, one hand gripping the side of her face, the other maintaining a solid grasp on her waist and all he could think was that is _not_ the way Lois Lane likes to be kissed. Not that he has any first-hand experience—or even wants it. But he knows her well enough to realize that she would hate feeling like she was trapped in someone's embrace and that was exactly what Arthur was doing. And then he flashed back to his dream, where he took her in his open arms and kissed her gently, softly, slowly, until she melted into him and allowed him to maneuver her in whatever way he desired.

Of course, dream-Clark clearly wants completely different things than real-Clark, so what's to say that real-Lois likes to be kissed like dream-Lois?

Oh, hell. This is getting too confusing.

He stands still for a long while after she storms back into the house, thinking about why Lois has rattled him so much since she returned so unexpectedly to his life.

* * *

She handles Arthur's abrupt departure with quite a bit more grace than he'd expected. Lois is sad, to be sure, and he knows that Chloe has two pints of Chunky Monkey in her fridge for later tonight when they'll stay up and watch romantic comedies all night long until Lois's broken heart is somewhat mended; but he'd expected dramatics, tears, and maybe even more yelling at him. She's resigned, however, when she ascends the loft stairs and laughs at him bent over his research project for Milton Fine.

"You know, my first week of college the only book I cracked open was the _Bartender's Guide_ and even that was the Cliff's Notes version," she quips.

Clark shrugs, unsure if she's come to make peace or yell at him some more. "Well, I guess we're two different types of students."

"I hope so, for your sake."

He instantly feels bad. He knows Lois is still upset about losing her place at Met U last year, especially since her father seems to think she's wasting her life—and trust fund—by hanging out in Smallville with Chloe, but sometimes he forgets how fragile she really is. Then she goes and says something mildly self-deprecating and it makes him regret all the times he's been hateful to her.

"Look, Clark," she continues before he can work up the courage to apologize to her. "I know that I got a little thorny when you raised the red flag on A.C."

"I was just trying to watch out for you," he replies.

"And I appreciate it!" she says quickly. This is such delicate ground they're treading. He knows she absolutely can't know about his dream and thoughts of her over the past few days, but it feels like something is different between them and he hates that he can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

"I've just never had someone to help guide me through the shark-infested ocean of romance… Not that I can't fend for myself." Of course she'd tack that on to the end. Lois Lane doesn't show weakness, not even to someone she claims to think of as a brother.

"You know, I think I was wrong about our friend A.C. He was a little misguided, but his heart was in the right place." He means the heart that wanted to save the oceans, not the part that wanted to date Lois for two days before tossing her aside like toxic waste.

"Yeah. He was definitely unique." She smiles and watches him for a moment, and the way she narrows her eyes slightly makes him wonder if somehow she knows everything about him—secrets, fantasies...

Then she shakes her head slightly and continues. "I've known a lot of guys who want to own the world… I haven't met very many who actually want to save it." She sighs and turns to the loft's railing. "How am I ever gonna meet someone like that again?"

It suddenly makes perfect sense to him. He _does_ care for Lois, somewhat, at least in a protective younger brother way. He's spent the last few days concerned that the first boy Lois paid any attention to since her arrival in Smallville would do exactly what A.C. did—use her and then dump her. He could almost laugh. Who knew that under that thick skin and tough as nails exterior, Lois Lane is a romantic?

It's a rhetorical question, he knows that, but he also knows Lois enough to realize that she's going to spend the next two weeks over-analyzing every single thing that went wrong in the short-lived fling if he doesn't do something to assuage her fears.

"Lois…" He crosses the small loft space and considers reaching out to touch her shoulder, but the memories of her hair tickling his bare chest while dream-Lois straddled his lap convinces him otherwise. He shouldn't even be speaking, but she sounds so small, so vulnerable… He can't let her think she's missed her chance at love.

"I promise: someday, you'll meet someone even more special."

* * *

He dreams of Lois again that night, but this time she's wearing a pair of black sweatpants and his oversized red Smallville football hoodie and her legs are swung over his lap as they sit on the couch. A movie he doesn't recognize plays on the television in front of them and every once in a while she tosses a handful of popcorn at him.

Dream-Clark reaches down and tickles her bare feet, which sends her into a fit of giggles. The popcorn bowl careens off her lap and into the floor, but he doesn't relent until they're both red-faced and breathless. Then she smiles up at him and he leans in to kiss her softly.

When he wakes the next morning, he feels more rested than he has in months, but also terribly guilty, like he's done something he can never repent

Even if it was just a dream.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! :)


	12. 48) Diamond

**A/N:** Please note that this takes place during episode 10x11 "Icarus." Also, I'll just go ahead and apologize because I so wanted this to be fluffy and light, but it turned into this so... Yeah. I hope you'll still enjoy it.

* * *

She literally cannot stop staring at it as she sits on their bed in the master bedroom of the Kent farmhouse. The drive home from Metropolis had been too dark to see it, and, anyway, most of her time was spent calling Chloe, Lucy, Martha, Pete, _everyone_ they know to tell them the news.

Lois sighs happily and twists her hand around under the reading lamp, watching the way the new diamond ring on her left hand catches the light. She's never considered herself materialistic and, honestly, she never thought something as silly as a ring could make her so happy… But it's so much more than just a ring. It's an _engagement_ ring and it's from _Clark_ and she's someone's fiancée. Soon she'll be someone's wife, and that's more than she ever dared hope for.

Clark chuckles as he emerges from the bathroom and climbs into bed. "I'm guessing it's okay?"

"Okay?" she asks incredulously. " _Okay?_ It's _perfect_. It's so shiny and sparkly and… Just perfect. Like you." She leans across the bed and kisses his cheek. Her _fiancé_. She wonders if she'll get used to calling him that before he becomes her _husband_. Something warm and delicious blazes in her chest, so she moves her lips to his mouth and kisses him deeply.

He brushes the hair off her cheek and smiles. "I've been thinking about this night for weeks, and now that it's here, it's so much more than I ever imagined."

"Did I sound excited enough?" Lois asks. It's been bothering her ever since he slid the ring on her finger. Maybe she should have jumped up and down or cried or something. Maybe she should have taken more time to think, extended the drama of the moment before she blurted the 'yes' that's been on the tip of her tongue for months. "Oh, God…" She stands at the side of the bed, tugging the ring from her finger and holding it out to him. "Ask me again. I want to sound more excited for you."

"Your answer was fine. Lois, this is ridiculous," he says softly, but he's smiling as he takes the ring from her and kneels at the edge of the bed.

She scoffs and sets her hands on her hips defiantly. "Just… Ask me so I can put my pretty new ring back on. I already feel naked without it."

Clark shakes his head, but takes a deep breath. "Lois Lane, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" She bounces up and down a few times, which actually makes it far harder for him to get the ring back on her finger, so she immediately knows that reaction wasn't correct. "Nope. One more time. I've got this." She shoves the diamond back in his chest.

He sighs. "Can't we just get back in bed? I'd really like to make love to my fiancée at some point tonight _._ "

She shivers involuntarily at the chills that run up her spine. "That's the first time you've called me that."

He nods, pushes himself to his feet, and takes her hand. "Yes," he says, sliding the ring back on her finger. "But it won't be the last. Trust me, Lois, I'm going to tell everyone who'll listen that we're getting married."

"Was it okay?" She twists her fingers through his and looks up at him. "I mean, I know you had this whole romantic dinner thing planned and I kind of screwed it up, what with being late, and then ruining the reservation…"

There aren't enough words for her to describe how badly she'd felt when he'd relayed his whole plan for their engagement dinner to her in the car between phone calls. Clark was so caring, so thoughtful, and she'd had to go and mess up what was the most romantic proposal he could think of. Not that she didn't _love_ being showered in rose petals just outside their phone booth—Clark always did think quickly on his feet—but she wanted it to be perfect for him, too.

"So," she asks again. "Was it all right?"

He smiles down at her and lifts her left hand to his lips, pressing a kiss just under her ring finger. "Just because it wasn't what I planned doesn't mean it wasn't perfect… And it _was_ perfect, Lois."

"Even though we ended up eating pizza in the car on the drive home instead of a fancy gourmet dinner from that new restaurant?"

Clark laughs and pulls her closer to him. "You don't get it… I could have been fighting off kryptonite-wielding armies while I proposed to you, but I wouldn't care as long as I got the answer I wanted. And I did. It wasn't perfect because of _how_ I did it… It was perfect because you said yes."

She places her hands on the back of his neck and notices the way the light glints off the diamond of her engagement ring. Her lips spread into a wide smile, just as Clark leans down to kiss her.

He sighs. "Seriously? Again?"

"I'm sorry!" Lois pulls away from him and holds her hand out for him to see. "It's just so pretty when it sparkles."

"Watch it sparkle later." His arms sweep behind her knees and she's aloft in his grasp before she can process the change in elevation. He lays her gently on the mattress and kisses her softly as he settles beside her, hands searching for the hem of her tank top. "There's something else I'd rather be doing right now."

* * *

For as much grief as he gave her earlier about wanting to sit around and watch her ring shimmer, Clark seems to be pretty entranced by it himself. They're lying naked together under the sheets, which is quickly becoming Lois's favorite way to spend time with Clark. Her cheek is pressed against his chest and their legs are tangled together. She realizes, as she absentmindedly strokes his calf with her foot, that she'd be perfectly happy if they could stay like this forever—no people to save, no stories to write—just them, together, in this peaceful, blissful moment.

He twists his fingers in hers and holds her hand up to the dim light. "I knew it was pretty when I bought it, but I have to say, I like it much better on you… _especially_ when it's the _only_ thing on you."

She laughs and he kisses her temple.

"Can I ask you something?" he says quietly.

"Of course. You can ask me anything, you know that."

"When did you fall in love with me?"

Lois takes a deep breath and rolls onto her back, still watching the light play off the diamond on her finger. "When did I _fall_ or when did I _realize_ it?"

"Either." He shrugs. "Both, I guess."

It's fitting that they're having this conversation in what used to be his parents' bedroom, in the quiet, yellow farmhouse that had stolen her breath the first time she'd laid eyes on it. When she'd first realized that she was actually, honest-to-God in _love_ with Clark, it had made perfect sense. The Kent Farm really was the only place she ever considered home.

"I started falling in love with you the day we met," she admits quietly. She's never told him this. She hadn't even admitted to herself until fairly recently, but when she says it out loud, it feels perfectly right. "I found you in that field, naked as a jaybird—"

He groans and covers his face in embarrassment.

"—and something about you just felt…" Lois pauses, trying to capture with words how his very appearance in her life had affected her. "Different. It was like… Coming home. Like I'd been waiting to find you my entire life. I don't know how else to explain it," she tacks on quickly, fully aware of how ridiculous she must sound to him.

Clark's eyebrows knit together. "But you couldn't stand me then. I couldn't stand you. We kind of hated each other."

"No, we didn't," she says simply. "Not really. I thought you were really cute, actually. But once I figured out who you were and I realized that Chloe had been in love with you for basically ever, but you only had eyes for Lana, well… I knew it was never going to happen. It _couldn't_. So I treated you like the annoying little brother I never wanted and regarded my initial attraction to you as a passing moment of infatuation, probably influenced by the fact that you were stark-ass naked when we met."

They laugh together for a moment, Clark's fingers leaving trails of fire as they move up and down her ribcage.

"So, when did you realize it?" he asks after a few moments.

"Honestly?" She hates this part of the story because it makes her sound as selfish as she's always secretly thought she was. But if she's going to marry him, he deserves to know everything, so she sighs. "When I was kidnapped and we were strapped into the lie detector. You always knew that I didn't slide the sensor off my finger; but I was afraid of looking weak when I knew there was no way you felt the same way. And I didn't think I was ready to be in love with you, but I was kidding myself. It's always been there. I've _always_ loved you. I just didn't want to admit it… Not even to myself."

"I did feel the same way then," he mutters into the darkness. "Just like you said, there's a part of me that's always known it was going to be you and me, even when I couldn't face it."

Lois shrugs. "Not to mention that Lana had just left town. And not too long after that, she was back and you…" She lets her voice trail into nothing because they might have a great relationship, they might be newly engaged, but Lana Lang will always be a bit of a sore subject between them.

Once Lois had learned of his powers and secret identity, he'd explained completely about Lana and the Prometheus suit and its ability to absorb, and in turn radiate, the dangerous green kryptonite that can actually kill him. Even though she knows that Lana is gone, really and truly _gone_ from their lives, it still stings to think that the man she loves tossed her aside as easily as he did.

Clark inhales deeply. "I know I treated you poorly when Lana came back and I wish I could explain why I did, but I'm not even sure myself. I guess…" He rubs his eyes. She had no idea it was a painful for him to think of as it is her. "I was trying to hang on to something that just wasn't there. Now that you know everything about me, now that you know the whole story, do you still feel like the second choice?"

She sits up, gathering the sheets around her chest, and looks him directly in the eye before she nods slowly. "Yeah, and I think I always will, at least at little bit. Clark." She takes his hands in hers. "Since I figured out I loved you, I've never had any doubts that you were the one for me… But can you honestly say that if Lana were cured of the Prometheus and she walked back in here…" She takes a deep breath and braces herself for the answer she needs, but isn't entirely sure she wants to hear. "If she asked, are you _sure_ you wouldn't want to be with her?"

Clark leans forward and presses his forehead to hers. "Lana is my past. _You_ are my future."

"But I'm talking about the present."

"Well, presently, I'm sitting in bed with my fiancée—naked, might I add—"

She shakes her head. "Clark."

He sits back. "No. I wouldn't choose her. Things with Lana were always too hard. Love shouldn't be like that; it should just _be_. Like us. She could never be herself with me. She always felt like she needed more power to help me. It's funny; you are so much stronger than she ever was, but it's a quiet strength where hers wasn't.

"You help me just by being you—by calling me Smallville and wearing my plaid shirts around the house and reminding me to call my mother every Sunday. Lana treated me like a superhero, but you treat me like a man. She kept me tied to the Blur, but you keep me tethered to Clark Kent. I don't want a relationship where I have to compete—I want one where I can be home. That's why I'm marrying you, Lois Joanne Lane. You are my home. You always were. I knew it from the moment I looked at you."

Lois swallows hard, but she can't stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She's always felt so insignificant next to him. Secretly, she'd always admired Lana a little bit for having the idea to seek out a way to make herself worthy of him, because Lois has never really felt worthy of anyone, let alone someone like Clark… But the way he looks at her and the way he uses the pad of his thumb to brush away the incessant tears and the way he gathers her into his arms and kisses her makes her feel whole.

"You know," she croaks much later, when the tears have stopped. "I've never felt like enough for anyone."

"You are enough. You are _so_ enough." Clark kisses her again and takes her left hand. "And whenever you feel like you aren't… Look at this and remember how much I love you."

* * *

They make love a few more times that night, slowly and sweetly, with Clark whispering into her neck and back and stomach all the things he loves about her.

Every time she sees the sparkle of the diamond, she knows she's home.

And she isn't ever letting go.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much!


	13. 82) If

**A/N:** I've been working on this one for a while (I originally wanted it to be the third or fourth posted) and though I'm still not completely pleased with it, I think I have to wash my hands and let it go. So here it is.

* * *

Her period is a full two weeks late before she works up enough courage one Friday afternoon after work to drive the almost forty-five minutes to the other, much seedier side of Metropolis to procure the pregnancy test she never thought she'd need. It isn't the first time she's ever been late—there was that one time senior year of high school that she doesn't like to talk about—but it _is_ the first time she's been late since she started sleeping with Clark and she is more than a little terrified of what this could mean.

They've always been so careful because it hasn't even been two years since Clark left the Blur in the shadows and stepped into the light as Superman. And there are their careers to consider and they _still_ haven't found the time to get married. There are a million reasons she could list that make having a baby a terrible idea right now. That's why there's a jumbo box of Trojans in his nightstand and she keeps an emergency stash in her desk at the _Planet_ and a few extras in her purse. _And they've always been so careful_.

But there was that night in Smallville last month when she'd finally had her porch swing fantasy fulfilled. It had been so _romantic_ , so _perfect_ that when Clark had tried to run inside, she grabbed his arm and told him she couldn't stand to be away from him for even the millisecond it would have taken. Just this once, she pleaded, it didn't matter. What are the odds that one time could change things so much?

He hadn't protested at all. She knows he only wears the condoms because she insists—he's made up his mind that his alien DNA is incompatible with hers—but he can't hide the hope that sparks in his eyes every time he plays with Jonathan. That light is what makes Lois believe that maybe one day, after she's won her Pulitzer, after he's basically eradicated all the evil in Metropolis, after they're properly married and ready, she can give him the children he desperately wants.

Clark could slip into his role as father effortlessly because he had the best parents in the world, but he's resigned himself to the fact that he'll never have the opportunity. The fact that she may finally be able to prove him wrong on this one should thrill her, but she's scared to death because the only thing she knows about parenting is how to raise her younger sister on Army bases with a dead mother and an absent father. She isn't ready to be a mother. Not by a long shot.

Lois parks in a spot right in front of the drug store and sighs. "Get it together, Lane," she whispers to her reflection. Then, because it's imperative that no one recognize her, even on the other side of the city, she tucks her hair under a black silk scarf and hides her eyes under a giant pair of wraparound sunglasses. Confident in her disguise, she strides into the store and fills a shopping basket with a six-pack of Clark's favorite beer, a bag of Cheetos, three candy bars, and the pregnancy test with the highest reviews according to Google and the half-dozen or so websites she perused on her lunch break.

She pays the balding man running the register in cash because she doesn't want to leave a paper trail, and accepts her change with a curt nod and tight smile. Then she forces herself to walk slowly back to her car, but she can't stop from collapsing into the seat as soon as she tosses the plastic bags—through which she can _still_ see the obnoxiously pink box, she notes with annoyance—into the backseat. After locking the doors and fastening her seatbelt, Lois leans her head back against the seat and draws in a few deep, controlled breaths. Buying the damn thing was the hard part; peeing on it will be no problem.

Her phone vibrates loudly in the cup holder and she jumps. She slides her thumb across the screen to answer when she sees Clark's name and a picture of the two of them taken last Christmas.

"Hey!" She infuses as much cheer as she can into her voice.

"Are you going to be home soon?" he asks with a laugh. "I have a surprise for you."

"Yeah, I'm on my way." Lois chews her thumbnail nervously, trying to think up a believable cover story. "Sorry I'm late. I was chasing a lead." Vague is always best, she believes, and then sends up a silent prayer that he can't tell how badly she's lying.

"Oh… Well, that's what I get for ducking out early to stop a bank robbery. Anything good?"

"No… Nothing at all." She eyes the bright pink of the box as she twists the key in the ignition. "It's a dead end."

* * *

She hasn't really thought this through. Actually, that isn't true—she's thought about it, but most of her plans about sneaking the test into the apartment involve Clark gone on a life-saving mission. As luck would have it, however, there seems to be a lack of crime this evening. Good for Clark, _great_ for Metropolis, but absolutely a worst-case scenario for Lois.

After much trial and a whole lot more error, she decides that sneaking the damn thing in is impossible. She sure as hell can't just carry it in. Clark won't x-ray her work bag, but it's full to bursting already with notes and files from the stories she's working on. She hadn't even worn a coat today because despite the steady drizzle, it's unseasonably warm for late February. So with a sigh, she tosses the box into the back floorboard and covers it with a few ever-present extra editions of the _Planet_. Tonight, after Clark leaves on his nightly rounds, she'll sneak back down to the parking garage, retrieve it, and find something to do with it until she gets brave enough to pee on the damn thing. Or, if her period decides to make an appearance first, she could always return it.

Other bags in hand, Lois locks the car behind her, walks quickly to the apartment building, and ascends the stairs. She's just fit her key into the lock when the knob turns in her hand and the door opens, knocking her off-balance. Luckily, Clark is there to catch her, one hand behind her neck, one strong arm around her waist.

It never ceases to take her breath away when he does stuff like that.

"Hi," he says softly and grins widely as he sets her back on her feet and takes the drug store bag from her.

"Hi." She can't help but smile back at him and close her eyes when his lips meet hers.

Then someone clears their throat from behind him and Lois pushes him away because she would recognize that sound anywhere.

"Chloe!" She rushes to her cousin and envelops the petite blonde and her infant son in a tight bear hug. She then turns her attention solely to her godson. "Hi, Jonathan!" The baby coos attentively and his blue eyes widen. "Are you talking yet? Maybe Aunt Lois can teach you some Whitesnake lyrics while you're here."

Chloe laughs. "Lois, he's six months old."

"Oh, you're never too young for Whitesnake."

"I hate to interrupt," Clark says from the door, "but since Lois brought beer home, what do you say we order pizza and catch up? I'm starving."

Chloe moans enthusiastically. "God, yes! I have been dreaming of Metropolis pizza for _weeks_!" She wanders off, chattering about how the pizza in Star City just isn't the same and Clark takes Lois into his arms and kisses her.

"Surprise."

* * *

It's a little like fate, Lois decides. After Clark, Chloe is the person she trusts the most in the entire world and it might be nice to have someone hold her hand while she's waiting for those minutes to tick off the clock and seal her destiny. But Clark has to be gone first, and Lois isn't quite sure how to manage that without seeming rude.

"So, Oliver's gone to this leadership summit all week and I had some vacation days saved up, so I thought we'd visit," Chloe explains over her third slice of pizza and second beer. "Jonathan and I needed some Aunt Lois and Uncle Clark time."

Jonathan gurgles happily in Clark's lap and reaches a chubby fist for his glasses. Lois feels her stomach seize. This could be their life in a few months…

She sips her water slowly. Clark had tried to get her to take a beer—she loves the bitter IPA as much as he does—but she'd made up some lame excuse about not feeling like drinking tonight. Truth be told, she'd like nothing more than to gulp down the entire six-pack _and_ a fifth of vodka… But if she _is_ carrying Clark's half-alien child, she has to play it safe, even if she is almost one hundred percent sure their baby would inherit its father's alcohol tolerance.

Clark's eyes narrow and he tilts his head to the side, a sure sign he's picking up on an alarm that neither Lois nor Chloe can hear. Silently, Lois takes the baby from Clark's arms and he shoots her a grateful smile as he stands and begins to tug at his t-shirt.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe," he says, pulling his glasses from his nose and tossing them on the table.

She waves off his apology. "Go do your thing. I'm here all weekend."

He leans close to Lois and kisses her softly.

"Be safe," she murmurs, the dread she feels whenever he heads out settling in her already knotted gut.

"It's a subway fire in London," he explains quickly. "Probably an all-night thing."

She nods. She'll miss him, of course. Miss him next to her in bed, miss his light snores and the way he wakes her on Saturday mornings with coffee and the _Planet_ and sometimes a bout of slow, lazy lovemaking. She always misses him, but tonight she's almost grateful that there are people who need him more than she does.

At least she has Chloe and Jonathan and that stupid pink box to distract her.

"Just come home," she tells him before kissing him solidly once more and catching his jeans and loafers as he leaps out the window.

Jonathan begins fussing in her arms and she holds him aloft towards his mother. Yet another reason she isn't ready for kids—sometimes they cry and you can't pawn them off on someone else when they're yours.

"I know…" Chloe mutters softly to her son as she hoists him to her shoulder and rifles through bags in search of a bottle.

Lois watches in amazement as her cousin one-handedly fishes a bottle from the depths of a diaper bag, unscrews the cap, and fills it with water from the tap. Then Chloe replaces the cap, shakes the bottle to mix the formula, and pops it in the microwave.

"Wow…" Lois says, seriously impressed by how naturally Chloe has taken to motherhood.

"It _has_ to be body temperature or he won't take it," Chloe explains sheepishly. "That's what I get for breastfeeding. I hate even using formula, but I really wanted to drink this weekend." Warmed bottle in hand, she returns to the table, shakes out a few drops onto her arm, and situates the baby and his bottle in her arms. Pleased with the way he's eating, she takes a long drink of beer. "Of course, I didn't think I'd be drinking alone…"

Lois shrugs. "Sorry. I told you, I just…"

"Wasn't feeling it," her cousin supplies. "Yeah, I remember."

They move on, discussing Lois's current projects at the _Planet_ and Chloe's at the _Register_ , while Jonathan slurps from his bottle and gazes at Lois with big, sleepy blue eyes. Lois watches her cousin burp and rock her son to sleep with admiration, but what really makes her heart rise into her throat, is when Chloe buries her nose in Jonathan's neck and inhales deeply.

"He just smells so good," Chloe says with a shrug at Lois's questioning gaze. "No matter if he's sick or fussy or sleeping, he always smells the same right there."

"Chlo, do you like being a mother?" Lois blurts before she can stop herself. There's so much uncertainty, so much doubt spiraling in her head that she has to ask _someone_.

Chloe considers the question as she stands and places Jonathan in his pack-and-play. She carefully arranges the blankets around her sleeping child and presses one last kiss to his head before slowly standing and rubbing her hands on her jeans.

"I'm not sure that's the right question." She sighs and walks purposefully to the fridge for another beer. She tilts the bottle toward Lois, who shakes her head, and shrugs, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink as she settles back into her seat at the table.

"I love my son more than anything else in the entire world," Chloe continues. "I love that when he smiles he looks just like Ollie. I love that his eyes crinkle in the corners like my dad's. I love that I can look at him and see a physical, tangible representation of my love for Oliver. And I love knowing that by having him, I did something that will change the world; because he will, just by being in it. Does that answer your question?"

Lois shrugs noncommittally because it doesn't answer the question she most desperately needs answered, but no one can control that but her. It hits her suddenly: she has to tell Chloe. There's no way she can take that stupid test without someone there for emotional support.

"Lois, are you pregnant?" Chloe stares at her through narrowed eyes and she feels all her resolve melt away under her cousin's glare.

Lois licks her lips. "How did you—"

She shrugs. "You didn't drink at dinner, you're suddenly asking me questions about being a mom… I was an investigative reporter first, you know."

"I don't know." She picks at her thumbnail.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Chloe snorts. "It's kind of a yes or no thing."

Lois scrambles for the words. "I mean, I'm not sure. I'm late but… I haven't… I don't know."

Chloe nods. "Okay, well, how late are we talking about? A few days? A week? Give me some context and then we'll figure out where to go from there."

"Two," she says simply.

"Two days?" The blonde shakes her head. "Lo, that could be hormones. That could be stress, I mean two days is—"

"Not two days, Chlo. Two weeks."

"Oh." A heavy silence settles between the two of them and Chloe drains her beer bottle before she speaks again. "Okay. Well. Do you have a pregnancy test?"

"In the car," Lois mumbles around her decimated thumbnail. She tastes blood and knows from the pain that she's chewed down to the quick. "I wasn't sure how to get it past Clark. I don't want to tell him until I'm sure."

Chloe nods and begins to speak before she changes her mind and sits back in her chair. "I guess I never thought… I mean… I didn't know this was something that could happen for you guys…"

"We weren't sure," Lois says quietly, folding her bleeding thumb into her palm and squeezing tightly. "And we've always been really careful, just in case…" She shakes her head. "But there was this one time… God, I feel like an idiot now."

"You shouldn't. You don't know anything for sure yet." She presses the tips of her fingers together and chews her lip. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do: you're going to get the test out of the car and take it and then we'll know for sure."

Chloe is so even-keeled, so level-headed about the whole thing, and Lois is immensely and suddenly grateful for her surprise visit. There's no way she could have done this all on her own. Out of instinct, and because she's so relieved that she doesn't have to do this alone, she jumps up and grabs her cousin into a tight hug.

Then with a small smile, Lois grabs her keys off the counter and strides quickly to the parking garage.

* * *

"Have you talked about it?" Chloe asks as they sit perched on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the timer to ding. "You and Clark. Have you talked about having kids?"

Lois shrugs. "In the abstract. 'Someday after I win a Pulitzer;' 'one day when no one's actively trying to kill us…' And once, right after Jonathan was born, about if we even could… But never seriously. I think he gave up, honestly."

And then, there's the niggling little voice in the back of her mind that reminds her just how ill-prepared she is for the possibility that she could become a mother.

"It would be so much easier," she continues, her voice barely a whisper because she hates herself for feeling this way at all. "It would almost be easier if we couldn't have kids of our own, because then I wouldn't have to feel guilty for holding back because I'm scared."

Chloe studies her shoes and taps her foot lightly on the floor.

"I love Clark," Lois continues, desperate to make her understand. "And I'd do anything for him, but… I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I have what it takes to be a mother. I mean, I barely remember mine. And, God, what if something happens to me? What if I get cancer and die and leave Clark alone with our kids?"

A moment of heavy silence passes between them before Chloe finally lets out a sigh. "I didn't mean to get pregnant when I did. Trust me, no one was more surprised than I was. I was terrified to tell Oliver. We hadn't ever discussed it. The thought hadn't even occurred to us because we were always really careful. But one night, everything was just so perfect that neither one of us thought about it. Three weeks later, my period was late.

"You asked me earlier if I liked being a mother…" She laughs a little and swipes at her eyes. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also taught me the most. I think that God or fate or whatever's out there sends us what we need and not what we want." She grips Lois's hand tightly. "And I've seen you and Clark with Jonathan and, for what it's worth, I think you'd both make incredible parents."

She looks up, willing the heavy tears that tremble in her eyes to stay put, and sniffs. "But don't you ever get scared?"

"All the time." Chloe laughs and the egg timer on the counter rings loudly. Lois feels her heart beating so rapidly that she's surprised it hasn't leapt through her chest.

Chloe offers her a half smile and nods toward the counter. "I think it's done."

Lois nods and pushes herself to her feet slowly. There can't be more than four feet between the bathtub and the counter, but as Lois walks quietly over, it might as well be four miles. She turns back to Chloe before she can glimpse at the test.

"Chlo, what if I am pregnant?" she mutters. "What do I do?"

"Well, first you tell Clark," Chloe says simply, "and then you go from there."

"And what if I'm not?"

Chloe shrugs. "You tell Clark and you go from there."

Lois takes in a deep breath and looks down at the plastic stick on the counter. Her heart jumps, her stomach twists, and she grips the counter tightly. With a trembling hand, she lifts the test.

* * *

Clark returns from London early the next morning, covered head to toe in soot and smelling like the inside of a chimney. He's quiet as he moves around their bedroom gathering a change of clothes, but it doesn't matter. Lois hasn't slept at all since she hugged Chloe goodnight and left her snoozing on the couch. Instead, she's spent the night tossing and turning in their bed, trying to figure out how to best bring up the test, and gnawing her fingernails down one by one.

She lies still in the dark, listening to the muffled sound of his shower. She's learned to deduce a lot from listening to him when he returns. He's singing softly, so that usually means there were very few—if any—deaths, and the shower runs for only ten minutes, which typically means he had a good save. His showers lengthen with severity of accidents, like he feels the need to wash away the guilt from all the lives he couldn't save.

The bed dips as he slides in beside her. He wraps his arms around her waist and she can smell the soap and feel the heat that radiates from his skin. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I woke you."

"Nope." She turns onto her side to face him. "I couldn't sleep."

"Well," he continues. "I got everyone out of that subway with zero casualties."

"I'm so proud of you." She tries her hardest to sound completely normal, but Clark has always been able to see through even her most clever disguise, and there's no mistaking the catch in her voice as her throat closes from the tears that well up.

He reaches over to the nightstand and flicks on the lamp. "What's wrong?"

Lois rubs her hands over her eyes. "It's nothing. You should sleep. You have to be exhausted."

"I can sleep later…" He studies her. "What's wrong?"

There's absolutely no point in arguing with him because he won't let it go until she tells him everything. Truth be told, she hadn't pictured having this conversation with him at five o'clock in the morning while her cousin and godson sleep a few feet away, but he just looks so _tired_ , and the dark circles under Clark's eyes won't go away until he's had at least eight hours of sleep.

She sighs, sits up against the headboard, and clasps her hands together on top of the comforter. "You probably didn't notice, but my period has been mysteriously absent for a few weeks… So while you were gone to London, I, um…" She swallows hard. "I took a pregnancy test…" She wants to look at him, to see in his eyes exactly what he's feeling, but she can't force herself to tear her gaze away from her ragged fingernails.

"And?" He gulps and tightens his grip on the pillow in his hands. Because even though he's practically convinced himself that they can never have children, even though this shouldn't be news to them, not even Clark can stop that tiny seedling of hope from springing forth from the possibility. She hates herself even more.

"And…" Lois draws in a deep breath through her nose and exhales it slowly. "I'm not pregnant."

"Oh." He lets out a shuddering breath and collapses against the headboard. "Well. I mean, you never really wanted kids anyway. And I always thought that we probably couldn't…"

"I'm not convinced that's true, but…" She stops herself midsentence and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Well, thanks for telling me." Clark reaches to the nightstand and turns the lamp off, bathing them both in darkness. Then he flips onto his side, away from her, bunches his pillow into a ball and tries to make himself comfortable.

"But I talked to Chloe," Lois says into the darkness, knowing full well that he's listening even though he's pretending not to. "And I realized that I _do_ want kids someday." He shifts slightly. "Not this year, maybe not even for ten or so, but… Someday we are going to make a baby together and your mother's going to spoil it rotten and we're both going to pretend that it pisses us off, but really we'll just both be grateful that she has a grandchild to spoil."

The tears come with no relief now and Clark's strong arms wrap around and pull her into his lap before she even realizes she's crying.

The disappointment at the test results had surprised her immensely. She'd expected to feel some relief at the single pink line, but instead she'd just felt empty. Like someone had tugged a piece of her heart out with no warning and that's when she knew exactly what she wanted.

She wants a physical representation that she and Clark are one. She wants to hold their child in her arms and tousle his dark, unruly hair, and kiss his sticky, dirty cheeks, and watch Mrs. Kent bake batch after batch of chocolate chip cookies, and sit with Clark on the porch and watch him run through the fields after Shelby.

She wants a piece of herself to live on.

"I don't care what we have to do, how many tests Emil needs to run..." Clark brushes away a tear with the pad of his thumb. "If that's really what you want, I'll make it happen."

He kisses her then, soft and slow and sweet; a promise of everything to come.

* * *

Her period arrives the next morning, along with the worst cramps she's ever had in her life.

She decides that nothing sounds better than an afternoon on the couch with a heating pad, Chloe, and the most gigantic bag of dark chocolate Hershey Kisses Clark can find.

But as Chloe peruses her cousin's DVD collection, she stands and sighs emphatically. "Nothing. You have nothing that I'm in the mood for. Also, you probably need a gigantic, greasy cheeseburger from that diner downtown."

Clark reaches for his wallet. "I'll go."

"No, it's all right," Chloe says as she tugs her jacket over her shoulders. "Tell the truth, I've kind of been itching to walk around Metropolis by myself. You guys can watch the baby for a while, right? Thirty minutes, tops!" She wiggles her fingers over her shoulders as she steps through the door.

Lois picks at a string in the blanket. "Maybe he'll sleep the whole time?"

She really should know better than to tempt fate, because Jonathan lets out a high-pitched wail just as the words leave her lips. Clark is at his side in seconds and gently, so gently, he reaches down and scoops the fussing infant into his arms.

"Is it his diaper?" Lois searches frantically for the bag Chloe left behind. "I've never changed a diaper before, I mean, never by _myself_..."

Clark lifts the baby to his shoulder and shushes him. "Nah, I think he just wanted some attention." He lowers his voice and sings softly into the crook of Jonathan's neck.

Lois studies him. She's seen Clark do some amazing things in their ten-year friendship, but she's never seen him so relaxed, so comfortable. Her heart warms. "We can do this," she says softly, crossing the space between them and laying a hand over Clark's. "We really can."

He nods. "Someday."

"Someday," she agrees and rests her head on his shoulder, staring into the wonder-filled blue eyes of their godson.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks so much!


	14. 25) Strangers

**A/N:** Because August 17 is traditionally recognized as Lois's birthday, I thought this would be appropriate. Please enjoy!

* * *

Superman is suddenly more popular than ever, and when she really takes the time and thinks about it, she's grateful for that. It's everything Clark has ever wanted: to give hope to the people of Metropolis—and the world—by being a proud representative of truth, justice, and the American way. But she's beginning to think that Clark's inability to tell her no isn't due solely to her sex appeal. Lately it seems like he can't tell _anyone_ no.

So far this week he's gone to three ribbon cuttings, accepted the keys to two different cities, and shot par at a charity golf tournament. She _is_ proud of him, undoubtedly so, but she feels like it's been years since they've had any alone time. And moments like this one, when they're both hunched over their desks editing copy at the _Planet_ , definitely do not count. She needs _alone_ time with him.

"Do you have any plans tonight?" She can't help but feel like she's trying to pick up a one-night stand instead of scheduling time with her fiancé of almost three years.

Clark slowly looks up at her over the top of his glasses. "I have patrol, like most nights…"

"But no galas?" she continues, trying not to sound as angry as she feels. "No baseball games where you're throwing out the first pitch? No autographs to sign? Are you becoming the mayor of anywhere tonight?"

"Lois…" He tugs the glasses from his face and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Why don't we save time, cut through all the passive-aggressiveness, and skip to the part where you just tell me what's wrong?"

"I miss you, Clark." She tosses down her pen in frustration. Has he really been so busy that he doesn't even realize it's been almost a week since he last kissed her goodnight?

He heaves a sigh and reaches for her hands. "I know I've been really busy lately and I'm sorry that you feel ignored."

Somehow this apology isn't making her feel any better.

"But, honey, I— _Superman_ has a responsibility to the people of the world—"

"I understand that, but what about Clark Kent's responsibility to his fiancée?" She chews her lip for a few moments. There's one card she can play, but she's been saving it because she doesn't like to think about it and she knows it will just make him feel bad. She _hates_ making him feel bad for wanting to save everyone, but damn it if she isn't tired of sleeping by herself. She lowers her voice. "Clark, do you realize that it's been ten days since we had sex?"

His eyebrows knit together. "No… The last time was right before we went to visit my mom in Washington—"

"—where Superman delivered an address on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, endorsing Senator Martha Kent's plan for education reform, which kicked off your whirlwind publicity tour." Lois reaches into her desk drawer and produces a copy of the _Planet_ from last Thursday. "I'm pretty certain of the date on that, Clark. _We_ wrote the story, after all."

He blushes as he reads the date on the proffered newspaper. Then he tosses it to the side and perches on the edge of her desk before he leans in to kiss her softly. "I'm sorry, Lois."

She sits back in her chair and sighs. "Are we becoming a boring married couple that eats TV dinners in the dark and never talks?"

"That's impossible." He scoffs. "We aren't married yet."

She slugs him on the shoulder, a hard habit to break, even though by now she knows it hurts her more than it does him. "I'm serious. This is unprecedented. We've _never_ gone ten days. I mean, it was months before we even took nights off... Oh, God. It's me, isn't it? You're tired of me."

"Hardly." He kisses her again, deeper this time, and full of so much more than he can give her in their glass-walled office. Lois has no doubt that if Clark had his way, their drought would end right there on her desk. But he composes himself—ever the professional—sits back, and smiles at her. "I _have_ to patrol tonight. And tomorrow, I'm working on some stuff at Watchtower with the League… But tomorrow night… The Metropolis Grand Hotel. Ten o'clock. Wear something sexy and those ridiculous black heels. And leave your hair down. I'm all yours, I promise."

The practical part of her brain forces her to ignore the coil of heat that's built in her core. "Clark," she says softly, "we can't afford the Metropolis Grand."

"Ahh, but the hotel gave Superman a pass to use whenever he wants." He bends close to her ear and the hot breath on her tender skin makes goosebumps erupt over her entire body. "I'm sure he could be persuaded to let his good friend Clark borrow it for a night…"

"Ten o'clock," she agrees breathlessly. "Don't be late."

* * *

She's been waiting for Clark for what feels like hours, perched on the edge of the uncomfortable barstool, her feel throbbing painfully in his favorite of her highest heels, nursing a Manhattan she doesn't remember tasting. He's late, almost an hour so, and normally that wouldn't bother her—she'd just assume he was out saving the day again—but tonight is special for them and he'd promised he'd arrange for the other members of the League to take over for the night. Eleven days is somehow _infinitely_ worse than ten, and if he doesn't touch her soon, she might just explode.

She pays little attention to the tall, dark-haired stranger that sits next to her at the bar. She just drains the rest of her not-quite-strong-enough drink and taps her foot impatiently against the barstool. "Come on, Clark…" she mutters as she props her chin in her hand.

"Can I buy you a drink?" the stranger says.

Lois cuts her eyes over to him. After three years of being engaged, she hardly registers men anymore, but that definitely hasn't stopped them from noticing her. It's like the engagement ring is a magnet. Even so, she gesticulates with her left hand as she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I'm waiting for someone."

"Do you see them?" He shrugs as she shakes her head. "Then have another drink. A beautiful woman shouldn't be allowed to drink alone."

"I'm engaged…" She waves the perfect diamond on her ring finger in his direction.

The stranger laughs. "Would you believe it if I told you I was, too?"

She narrows her eyes. "And you're _still_ hitting on helpless women in bars?"

"Something tells me you're anything but helpless…" He makes no attempt to hide his gaze as it travels over the enhanced swell of her breasts (thank you, Victoria's Secret), the curve of her waist, and the smooth lines of her legs. "Especially in those shoes."

Lois can't suppress the smug smile that teases her lips upward. "Okay," she relents. "One drink. And then I have to head home."

The man next to her motions the bartender over and orders their next round. While they wait for the drinks, he grins at her. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a reporter at the city's largest newspaper," she says coyly. Ever since her exclusive interviews with Superman, she's been a lot more careful in admitting to strangers who she is. There are still people who are less than big fans of Clark and his merry league of vigilantes. "And what do you do?" She fishes the cherry from the bottom of her drink and pops it in her mouth, twirling the stem around her index finger. Jesus Christ, she's flirting. Well, at least she remembers how.

He takes a long drink of his gin and tonic. "I'm in law enforcement."

"Oh." That's a surprise. He certainly dresses better than most of the police officers she's met.

"You sound disappointed." He laughs.

"No, no. I just…" Lois sips her drink. "You just don't look like the type."

"Well, I mostly deal in private security." He winks.

She likes him, she decides. The conversation is easy, he seems truly interested in her… She should probably stop drinking now before this ends badly.

"So…" His voice drops low and when he peers at her, the lust in his eyes is evident. "What would it take for me to get the _Daily Planet's_ star reporter up to my hotel room?"

She drains her glass and feels the corner of her mouth turn up of its own volition. "An invitation."

* * *

Two hours later, she's lying naked in the stranger's hotel room bed, clutching the sheets to her chest and giggling like she hasn't in years. "Law enforcement?"

Clark shrugs. "Well, I couldn't very well say that I, too, was a reporter at the city's largest newspaper. I had to maintain _a bit_ of the mystery."

"No, no. You were very good. Very convincing." She laughs again and her head swims with giddiness. She guesses a glass of champagne, two cocktails at the hotel bar, and four earth-shattering orgasms will do that to you.

He smiles at her as he pours two glasses of champagne and returns to bed. "It's nice to hear you laugh like that, Miss Lane. I can't remember the last time I did, actually."

Lois sits up and accepts the flute from him. "Well, it's been a while since I've been this happy. At least ten days." She winks.

Clark leans close and kisses her gently. "Does bringing your being-picked-up-in-a-hotel-bar-by-a-stranger fantasy to fruition excuse me from my serious oversight?"

She presses a finger to her lips and pretends to consider. "Partially. But the night's still young… And my feelings were really hurt… And it _is_ a special day…"

"Vixen," he mutters as she rolls onto her side and presses kisses to his bare chest. "But I guess I _do_ have a lot to make up for…"

"Mmhmm…"

Gently, he wrests the champagne flute from her fingers and sets both glasses on the nightstand. He then wastes no time at all maneuvering her underneath him until they're just right, before he tangles his fingers in hers, and kisses a trail down her jawline back to the hollow just under her ear.

She gasps against his neck as his hips press flush against hers. "Best birthday ever."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much!


	15. 7) Days

**A/N:** This piece takes place during and directly after episode 10x06 "Harvest." (You all know what that means!) It was inspired by the song "The Next Ten Minutes" from the musical "The Last Five Years." Give it a listen if you haven't already heard it. It's beautiful and _such_ a Clois song, that I couldn't help but write something after I heard it.

* * *

He's going to ask Lois to marry him, that much is a given. The only variables are when, how, and what she's going to say.

Sure, it had taken him longer than absolutely necessary to realize that she's the one. Even he'll admit that there were parts of him that wondered if there still might be hope for him and Lana, even with the Prometheus in the equation. But Clark has always believed that there are a million tiny moments that add up to the big ones, and his relationship with Lois is no exception.

First there was homecoming and Brainiac and that trip into the future that allowed him to see just how Lois would protect him at all costs. The look on her face when he'd acted so surprised that she'd help him had been more surprising than his trip into 2017—because she treated him like an equal, like a _man_ , and not just a super-powered being. And that was when he knew without a doubt that what he felt for her was real, absolute, and infinite.

It was refreshing, really, having a plan, and figuring out what comes next. When he'd pulled her into his arms and danced with her in the barn and told her he loved her in a voice so steady it surprised even himself, he felt something click into place. Lois is like coming home—peaceful, perfect, undeniable.

Her faith in him hadn't wavered, not even once, when the Believers had kidnapped and intended to sacrifice them. Even without powers, even in a seemingly hopeless situation, she'd believed that together they would be just fine. And they were. And that was the moment he decided that she deserved to know absolutely everything. The choice to give her Virgil Swann's diary to explain everything felt momentous, and he agonized over it for hours before she arrived at the farm, but as soon as she took it in her hands, a wave of calm rushed over him.

Then he'd needed her _so badly_ , in a way he'd never needed anyone before, not even Lana. It was like being on red-kryptonite without the thin veil that keeps him from controlling himself. He _needed_ her in that moment, because he felt he might die without her. She's like breathing.

He's never been as thankful for his mother's candle obsession as he is now, because he knows how special this moment is for both of them and he wants it to be as romantic as possible. He never imagined there would be a use for approximately one thousand white candles, but as he spreads them around the master bedroom and lights them with his heat vision, he can't imagine a better use for them. And if his mother ever asks while they're all slightly used… Well. It storms a lot in Central Kansas. But not tonight. This night is perfect, with the full moon high in the sky and cicadas singing softly in the distance. He opens the window to let in the cool night air.

Lois had excused herself to the bathroom for a moment and he's grateful for the temporary reprieve. Even though they haven't explicitly discussed it, Clark knows that they both understand what happens next. In a way, he's glad she made them take things slowly, because even as frustrating as it had been for him, somehow it wouldn't have felt right letting Lois know him completely physically without her also knowing him completely in all the other ways that few others do.

"Clark?" she says quietly from the doorway of the bathroom, her voice uncharacteristically questioning.

She looks exactly the same as she did when he last saw her, but somehow, now that the decision has been made, she has an almost ethereal glow around her. He's breathless and he can't do anything but gape at her.

She blushes furiously and tucks her hair behind her ears. "I, um… The candles are nice."

He smiles. He knew she'd appreciate them. "I know it's not a romantic Scottish inn or whatever, but I thought…"

"Oh, Clark, I don't care about that. It's… It never was about where we are or what I'm wearing or any of that." She reaches for his hands and closes the space between them. "Tonight's about us, just us, and this is perfect." She kisses him softly then and her hands snake under his t-shirt.

He wants nothing more than to rip off all her clothes, throw her on the bed, and tell her with actions how much she means to him. But he restrains himself, tangling one hand in the curls at the nape of her neck as the other works free the buttons of her shirt. You only get one first time with someone, and he knows without a doubt that she is the last woman he'll ever be with. She's known as much for months, he realizes, and that makes him all the more determined to make things perfect for her.

His head swims, lost in the heat and soft pressure of her mouth on his, and he breaks their connection to grasp her face and really look at her. "I love you," he says solidly.

"I love you," she replies and the light that blazes in her eyes has an undeniable effect on him. He's waited so long for her, he can hardly believe that she's real and here and his.

She kisses him and moves her fingers to the button of his jeans.

Beyond that, everything seems to occur at half-speed. He remembers finding her tattoo and being amused, but mostly really turned on by it. He remembers mapping every inch of her body with his fingers, committing every part of her to memory, because even though he's seen himself do this before—last year, when he ended up in her memories of the future—he never could have dreamed that she'd _feel_ like this.

And then he kisses her and time stops completely as she opens for him and in one slow, steady, fluid movement they're one and they fit together perfectly and he sighs against her neck as he fills her. He rests then, savoring this moment, until a tear slips from beneath her eyelashes and splashes on his cheek. He pulls back to look at her, worried for a moment that she's hurt, but before he can ask, she smiles at him and reaches a hand up to his cheek.

"I've been waiting for this forever," she says breathlessly. "Waiting for _you_ forever."

"You have me." He takes her hand in his and twines their fingers together. "Forever," he whispers against her bare skin.

And then he starts to move.

* * *

He'll never get tired of looking at her like this. When her hair is wild around her face and her eyes are heavy and half-lidded from ecstasy. "You're beautiful," he murmurs as he brushes some hair off her forehead.

"Careful, Kent." She smiles sleepily. "A girl could get used to that kind of talk."

A silent, comfortable moment passes between them, the only sounds their light breathing and the heavy ticking of the clock. If it weren't for that he might swear that time was standing still for them.

"Lois, someday I'm going to ask you to marry me." He isn't completely sure what makes him tell her exactly what he's thinking, but the way her eyes widen in surprise immediately makes him rethink it. Everything had been so perfect…

"I'm not asking today," he adds quickly. "Or even next week… But I just wanted you to know that someday, when you're ready and I can buy you the ring of your dreams and I can ask your dad for permission… When it's _right_ , I'm going to ask you."

He knew it was risky, bringing up this topic when she's so exposed, so vulnerable, and she's already shared herself with him in the most intimate of ways. But he also knows that she hates being blindsided with anything relationship related and better he bring up the idea of marriage now and ease her into it, rather than just whipping out a ring at dinner one night.

She swallows hard and traces his jaw with her thumb. "It might take me a while," she finally says. "And I hate that, because I love you and I know that you'd probably marry me tomorrow if you could." She laughs. "Once you make up your mind about something like this, there's no going back."

He nods. Her read on him is exactly right. He doesn't make decisions lightly, but when he does—especially where Lois is concerned—he makes them for life. He realizes for the first time that this is probably why he was so hesitant to start anything at all with her. Part of him has known since the day he looked at her that she was his forever.

"But," she continues, still rubbing her thumb against the stubble on his chin. "If you can just wait for me for a little bit, I promise I will get there eventually. I know that you're the one, Clark, I know that. But old habits die hard. And if I start to run, well... Please come after me? Because I want to marry you. And someday, when it's my time, I want to know that I spent my entire life safe and loved in your arms."

"Always." He kisses her temple and then, because it seems like something she'd cling to, he clears his throat. "Tell you what. Why don't we take things a day at a time? And if everything goes okay today, tomorrow I'll ask you for another day. And eventually, all those days will turn into forever."

"God…" She sighs. "I don't know how anyone survives this life without someone like you."

It's more than he could ever expected. "You must really love me," he says, half-teasing because he knows that if she didn't love him with all her soul, she would have been dressed and out of Smallville in less than five seconds at the first word of marriage.

"Duh." She smiles broadly and kisses him for a long time. When she finally pulls away, she studies him, with one eyebrow raised. "Would you really ask my dad for permission?"

"Absolutely." He nods. "It's the right thing to do. And, if I'm being completely honest, I'm a little afraid of what would happen if I didn't."

Lois smiles. "Smallville, you should maybe be more worried about what will happen when you do."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much!


	16. 33) Too Much

**A/N:** This is my take on what happened when Lois bought Clark a drink and then disappeared for a while. That being said, please note that this story takes place between episodes 7x18 "Apocalypse" and 7x19 "Quest." Also, it is (shamelessly) inspired by "Shut Up and Dance" by WALK THE MOON. Because really, when there's a song containing references to kryptonite and destiny, how can you _not_ make it about Clois? ;)

* * *

He didn't take Lois seriously when she told him that she would make it her personal mission to make him a fan of nightlife and, in retrospect that was probably his first mistake. The second, perhaps the more serious one, was letting her bet him that she could out-drink him.

To be fair, he's only had a working theory about the extent of his alcohol tolerance. His twenty-first birthday was only last week, and he's had his hands full dealing with Kara's absence, Brainiac, and Lana's mystery illness. He really shouldn't have even accepted Lois's invitation to buy him a drink, but she'd looked so determined to be a good friend to him, sounded so steadfast to make him feel better, and, if he's being completely honest with himself, the distraction is welcome.

Clark knows he should be at the _Planet_ tracking down the best neurologists in the world, but if what Lex said was true and Lana's condition is humanly irreversible, it won't do any good anyway. Besides, he _knows_ whereas Lex only suspects that her coma is alien. An alien cause almost definitely requires an alien cure and he's the only person who can find it. And that's exactly why he should be spending time with Kara now that she's back. But she'd just looked so tired when they returned to the farm, so he'd drawn her a hot bath and told her to get a good night's sleep before they started trying to cure Lana in the morning. He _should_ be doing something else, something, _anything_ other than sitting in a sticky polyurethane booth in a dimly lit bar nursing a beer and watching Lois toss back tequila shots.

But even he has to admit: it's almost entertaining to watch her as she pulls the lime wedges between her lips and licks the salt from the skin between her thumb and index finger.

He really, _really_ shouldn't have let her challenge him to a drinking contest, though. Even if the pink flush high in her cheeks is so un-Lois-like that he can't control the corners of his lips from turning up whenever he looks over at her.

"I have to say," she calls over the loud music of the bar, "I am impressed, Smallville. You're sure you never snuck any of Pa Kent's whiskey when he wasn't looking?"

Clark chuckles. "My dad was pretty much a beer-only man. But no. I never drank underage, except for champagne at weddings and sips of wine at dinners."

Lois sighs. "Just when I think I've found a flaw in the perfect Clark Kent." She waves at the bartender, signaling for another round. "Well, still. You've got a seriously high tolerance because I am _tanked_ , my friend, and you are fine, and that is no small feat."

He watches her as she accepts the shots from the bartender and lines up their next shots. Then he matches her move for move as they drink. He sputters. The alcohol may not affect his motor skills, but he can still taste it. "How did you get so good at this?" It sounds ridiculous and he hopes she doesn't take offense.

Thankfully, she just shrugs. "Side effect of growing up on Army bases and hanging around with the recruits. A lot of them got a kick out of 'corrupting the general's oldest daughter.'" She wiggles her fingers in air quotes. "I got a kick out of them supplying my liquor through high school."

He grins. "Lois Lane, rebel."

"And don't you ever forget it." She winks as she takes a long drink from her beer. "Jesus, aren't you feeling _anything_?"

He isn't, and from the line of shot glasses on his side of the table, he's assuming that his hypothesis about Kryptonian metabolism being no match for alcohol is correct. But Lois is liable to drink herself into a stupor in an attempt to get him a little buzzed. So he drains his beer in three gulps, smacks his lips, and makes a show of bracing himself on the table.

"Now I am!" he exclaims, forcing a slur into his words and tacking on an uncharacteristic whoop to really sell the point.

Lois raises her hands in celebration and laughs with him. Then they sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the music and the various conversations around them. She sighs contentedly as she nurses her beer. Clark watches her carefully.

"Thank you," he says after a bit. Then, to her confused expression, he continues, "Thanks for tonight. For getting me out and not letting me sit at home and beat myself up over… Well. Over everything."

She blushes and turns her face down, suddenly intrigued by something in her lap. "Oh… Well... You've always been such a great friend to me, I just… I wanted to return the favor."

"You _are_ a good friend, Lois." On impulse, he reaches across the table and grasps her hand. "Even when it comes to dealing with the sad parts."

She offers him a small smile. "Well, I know a thing or two about nursing a broken heart and you didn't strike me as the Chunky Monkey and chick-flick kind of guy, so I thought: alcohol." Lois holds out her hands, as if she's displaying the bar to him.

"I didn't believe this would be fun at all, but you proved me wrong." He grins and she blushes harder in response… Or the alcohol is kicking in even more. Before he can decide, she slaps her palms on the table.

"I _love_ this song," she exclaims.

So the extra coloring in her cheeks _was_ from the liquor. Probably better, he decides. The last thing he needs is for her to think that he's weirdly infatuated with her or something.

While he's been lost in thought, she's pushed herself to her feet and grabbed his arm. "Come on!" She tugs firmly.

Clark is so taken aback that all he can do is acquiesce, so he slides out of the booth and follows her. The question of where she's leading him dies on his lips as it becomes suddenly clear: a sparsely populated dance floor looms before them. His stomach drops.

Lois tugs on his arm impatiently. "Come _on_!" she slurs.

He chuckles. "I don't dance."

"Tonight you do." They inch forward toward the colored lights.

"Lois, I'm serious." He could plant his heels and refuse to budge, but that would raise too many questions. Even in her inebriated state, Lois would notice. So he makes his tone as firm as he wishes he could make his body. "Lois, I'm not doing this."

She stops tugging on his arm and turns to face him, hazel eyes blazing. "Why not? Maybe this is exactly what you need. Jesus, how long has it been since you just said, 'screw 'em all' and enjoyed yourself?" She shrugs and sighs and her face softens as she reaches for his arm again. "Look, I know that you feel responsible for everyone, especially Lana, but, Clark… Maybe the best way to help her right now is to clear your head."

He scoffs. "With liquor and making a fool of myself in front of a bunch of people?"

"No one's paying attention to us. Trust me, Clark, everyone has things they wish they could leave on the dance floor."

He studies her. She isn't as drunk as he'd thought a few minutes ago and maybe that was intentional on her part. He really hates dancing and swore after a few disastrous proms that he'd never do it again. But Lois looks so vulnerable and fragile and desperate for him to just forget about all the bad things for just a few minutes that he wonders if she isn't affected by all this too. And it's _so_ tempting… If only he _knew_ he would stop hurting, even for a little while…

"Come on." She extends her hands to him and he grips it firmly and allows her to guide him to the dance floor. When she's pleased with their location she stops and moves his hands to her waist, and hers to his shoulders. Her sky blue top rides up a few inches, and his fingers brush bare skin. It's like a jolt of electricity.

She doesn't feel it too, she can't have, because she just smiles up at him and that shock definitely isn't something that she could just ignore. Slowly, they begin swaying back and forth, but the song isn't suited for romantic, slow dancing, so after a few moments, Lois unclasps her hands and clears her throat.

"Well, now that I've got you warmed up, let's boogie."

And she does. She bounces around and flips her hair and spins and whoops and laughs. It's contagious. Before long, Clark finds himself bending his knees in time with the song and awkwardly waving his arms. He stops moving when the realization hits him and just watches her. Lois looks amazing. He looks like a fool.

"What's wrong?" she asks breathlessly as the song fades out and into the DJ's announcement about the drink specials.

Clark sighs. "I look ridiculous."

"Because you're worrying about what other people think again." The music returns, just as loud and quick-paced as before and her eyes light up. "Okay." She grabs his shoulders and squares him in front of her. "Now. Don't you dare look at anybody else. Just focus those baby blue-greens on me."

He rolls his eyes hard before he looks down at her. Then her hands snake around his waist and she situates her body flush against his and starts to gyrate her hips to the beat of the music.

He jumps back automatically. "No, no way. Jeez, Lois. You're certainly holding back." The sarcasm drips from his words.

"Clark." Lois once again presses her body to his and demands his gaze with icy silence. "Look at me."

"I don't like this," he mutters. "This whole night was a mistake. I should be on the phone with doctors, hospitals, whoever. I can't believe I actually—"

"Clark!" she says sharply and grasps his face firmly between her palms. "Shut the hell up and dance with me."

He's so taken aback by her forceful words and the fire that blazes in her hazel eyes that his breath catches in his throat and he can't stop himself from gripping her hips tightly and moving in time with her. He lets her lead for a bit while he tries to get his bearing, but soon, he can't stand Lois Lane being in charge of him like this. So he tightens his fingers even more—to the point where he's almost afraid he'll leave bruises—and dares to take a step backwards, just to test her obedience. She follows him, surprise obvious in her expression, and turns in his arms when he motions, pressing her back to his chest.

Her hair is flipped over her right shoulder, exposing her neck to him, and he can see her pulse point flutter lightly under the sheen of sweat. His head swims. Maybe all that tequila is just now catching up to him, because there is no way that _Lois_ is having this kind of effect. She sways, her body flush to his, and throws a hand up around his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair. Her eyes close and she leans against him, trusting him fully.

He's kissed her before, last year when they were both under the influence of that damn red kryptonite lipstick, and as much as he'd pretended that it hadn't been that great, as much as he's tried to convince himself that he much prefers Lana's lips, he can't deny that Lois can _kiss._ It's been a long time since he's thought about kissing her, because things with Lana have been so fragile, and, after Bizarro, so strained.

But Lois is undeniable and he can't help but feel that there's something there, something deeper than just friendship. It isn't love, not by a long shot, but it's definitely _something_. His fingers, he realizes, have disappeared under the fabric of her top.

She stops moving and he silently curses himself for losing himself in his thoughts. But then, _then_ she turns and looks up at him with wide eyes and everything around them ceases to exist. The air grows heavy and the tops of his ears burn. He has to do something, he has to _move._

His body aches for her presence again, so he finds the small of her back and pulls her close to him. Then he bends to her, inhaling her scent, breathing in the very essence of her sweat and perfume and the alcohol that already escapes through her pores, and his lips land on her jawbone. He hears her gasp, and before he can stop himself, he kisses her full on, swallowing her small noises of surprise. She tastes like lime and liquor and something so inherently Lois that he only recognizes from their red kryptonite fueled affair.

He grips the back of her neck and he could swear that all the liquor he's consumed tonight begins roiling in his gut.

"Clark…" she mutters as she pushes away from him. "We've done this before and it doesn't end well."

"That was different," he says quietly and moves toward her again.

"We're both drunk."

He shakes his head. "Not as drunk as you think."

She places a hand on his chest, maintaining the distance between them. "Lana."

Clark glances down at her, one-half of him desperately wanting to reclaim those lips, the other feeling incredibly guilty. She's absolutely right. Lana is sitting in an asylum and, if he's to believe Brainiac, fully aware of her surroundings and in excruciating pain. He's been drinking and dancing and _kissing_ Lois and having the time of his life while the only woman he's ever loved is fighting to hang on.

He hates himself.

"I'm sorry, Lois." He stumbles off the dance floor and back to the booth, where he collapses. The good news, he admits, is that his head has stopped spinning. _Why_ did the liquor have to surface at that moment?

He watches Lois across the room as she settles their tab at the bar and shoves her credit card into her back pocket. Then she approaches him and his stomach lurches and the floor seems to tilt violently underneath him. It isn't the alcohol at all. It's _her_.

"We, umm…" She studies the sticky floor. "We should get going, I guess."

He reaches for her keys. "You can't drive."

She scoffs. "Trust me, Smallville. That sobered me up pretty quick."

He nods. He isn't happy about letting her behind the wheel, but he figures his reflexes are quick enough to prevent anything drastic from happening. And he isn't exactly in the mood to argue with her right now. The ride home to Smallville will be torture enough.

* * *

In typical Lois fashion, she disappears from Metropolis for the next few weeks. Chloe says she needed to spend some time with her father and Lucy, but Clark has seen this pattern emerge far too often to believe his friend.

He sits at Lois's desk at the _Planet_ and researches traumatic brain injuries until his eyes cross and the words blur together in front of him.

When he leans back in her chair, he catches the slightest whiff of her perfume, and his stomach rolls.

His alcohol tolerance may be off the charts, but he's a lush when it comes to Lois Lane.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much!


	17. 21) Friends

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been so long. Real life has been a real pain lately. That being said, I hope you enjoy. Please note that this one takes place between episodes 10x03 "Supergirl" and 10x04 "Homecoming."

* * *

Cat Grant has done something terrible to her desk chair and try as she might, Lois just can't seem to adjust it back to her liking. Decorating every available inch of her desk in Pepto Bismol pink was bad enough, but this is simply unforgivable. You just don't mess with someone's chair.

Her back aches terribly and even though she knows that part—most—of that is due to the almost twenty-four hours she spent in and out of planes and airports two days ago, she's more than willing to blame Cat and whatever she did to her otherwise perfectly comfortable office chair. And why the hell had Lois chosen to wear her tightest, shortest pencil skirts and highest heels to her first few days back to work?

Across from her, at his own desk, Clark clears his throat and smiles at her when she catches his eye.

Ahh, yes. That's why. Damn it.

She'd spent so much time imagining her reunion with Clark upon her return from Africa that when it came, it hadn't even felt real. She couldn't count the times she'd thought about hugging him again, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her into his body. She couldn't remember the words she'd played and replayed in her head while she thought up the perfect thing to say to him when they were finally reunited, although she knew it definitely wasn't the wisecrack about Gordon Godfrey she'd come up with off the cuff.

And then he'd been there, all broad shoulders and hands shoved casually into his pockets, looking every bit as wonderful as he had in her memories of him. And his arms had found her waist like no time had passed at all. As she breathed him in, she wanted to kick herself for running away again. This was Clark she's talking about. There is no distance great enough to kill the feelings between them.

Screw Ollie and his comments about her always wanting to ruin things before something else gets in the way. Especially since he'd let her walk into his coming-out press conference blind and then told her that he expected _her_ article to be truest to form, _even though_ it went against almost all of her journalistic integrity to write about Oliver-Queen-as-Green-Arrow since she'd dated the bastard.

But she doesn't have any intention of no longer writing her articles about the Blur…

Randall thought it added an interesting angle to the piece that none of the other news outlets would have. "Look, Lane, everyone's reporting that Oliver Queen is Green Arrow," he'd said, after Lois's millionth refusal to write the piece. "But no one else has a reporter who is finding out about this after being in a serious relationship with him." Then he'd told her he wanted the story ready to go by the morning edition and slammed his office door on his way home. Editors don't work late on Saturdays, even when their reporters, who have just returned from Africa, are.

Lois simply hadn't had the heart to tell him that she'd known about Oliver's secret identity for years. There's no telling what response that angle would have gotten her.

Maybe it's jetlag or possibly a subconscious writer's block, but either way, Lois can't make herself write the story. She's been staring at the blinking cursor on her monitor for the better part of an hour. It's getting close to midnight and all she wants to do is go home, take off her ridiculously uncomfortable clothes—which Clark hasn't even seemed to notice—crawl into bed, and sleep until Monday morning. Unfortunately, she knows she can't go anywhere until that damn story is finished and sitting in the server, ready to go on Sunday's front page. She can see the headline now: _Green Arrow's Ex Speaks!_ And she thought she left the _Inquisitor_.

She sighs and leans back in her seriously messed up chair, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure settled there.

Quickly, just a little too quickly to be entirely human (how did she miss the signs for so long?), Clark's fingers replace hers, and he rubs slow, deliberate circles on the tender skin. A soft moan escapes her lips before she can stop herself. She missed him.

"You've certainly had an exciting first few days back," he says quietly.

"Mmm…" she responds at first, and then realizes that actual words may be required. They're alone. And they're _talking_. "Your cousin and Oliver both showing up to the superhero party is bound to keep a girl busy. It's just lucky I was here. Somehow I don't think Miss Grant would have been up to the challenge."

"Lucky…" His hands move from her temples to her neck. "Are you going to be much longer with your story?"

She scoffs. "I haven't written a damn word. It might be an all-night thing. You can go."

"I could," he responds. "Or… _We_ could grab coffee and head back to the farm."

She opens her eyes and cocks an eyebrow at him. There's no doubt in her mind that she drew a line in the sand when she left for Africa, even if he told her to go. Their relationship has been anything but easy, but now that she _knows_ ,everything makes so much more sense. And is so much harder. That _Mystery Science 3000-_ version of Lex hadn't been wrong about her.

But neither had Carter. Clark needs her, apparently, to become the man he's meant to be, and if that isn't a calling to be greater than she ever thought she could be, she doesn't know what is. You can't fight destiny, she supposes. Isn't destiny what brought her back to Kansas in the first place?

But Clark was so awkward and standoffish when asking if they were still partners… There's been no mention of their actual relationship and he still hasn't told her about his abilities…

He holds up his hands, obviously taken aback by her hesitation. "No strings, Lois. No expectations. I just thought it might be a good idea for you to get away. Sometimes it's easier if you step away for a while and then come back to it."

She sighs. Is he talking about her story or their relationship?

"And…" He ducks his head, as if he too is realizing the weight of his words. "I thought maybe we could catch up."

"Clark, it's almost midnight."

He shrugs. "I don't have plans for tomorrow. It's Sunday."

There's something he isn't saying, she can see that much in his eyes. Coffee _would_ be welcome, however, and she's missed the farm almost as much as she missed him.

"Okay," she says, saving the document, and her decision feels monumentous. "Let me grab my stuff."

* * *

She's completely exhausted, but the promise of her favorite coffee and the pressure from Clark's hand on her waist as he walks her into the café is enough to keep her going. The she sees her favorite barista behind the counter and she grins broadly because he _always_ slips extra espresso shots into her drinks without charging her for them. Lois slips a five dollar bill into the Karma Jar as Clark pays for their drinks, not only for the extra caffeine, but also because she figures you can never use too much good karma, especially when you may or may not be in a relationship with the Blur and his alter-ego.

She sips her coffee silently as Clark steers his truck onto the freeway towards Smallville. He keeps glancing over at her and smiling that tiny half-smile that only Clark can pull off without looking like a complete moron and she can help but laugh. There's a lot of small talk—the weather's been fair, for the most part, which is good news for the upcoming harvest. He asks about her dad and Lucy. She asks about his mother and Shelby. They purposefully avoid talking about their relationship.

When the city lights give way to mostly corn fields and she's drained the last of her now-cold coffee, she rests her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Just before she slips into a light sleep, she feels Clark's fingers brush the inside of her palm as he reaches for her hand.

* * *

"Lois…" His voice is low as he coaxes open the door and rouses her from her slumber.

She blinks a few times and offers him a small smile as she breathes in the smell of the farm. The earthy, damp scent has always been one of her favorite things about this place. It just feels like home.

Clark helps her from the truck and grabs her bag from the floorboard. They stand side by side against the truck, looking up into the Kansas sky.

She sighs. "It looked so different in Africa."

"You were on the other side of the world," he says simply.

"It was more than that…" She stops herself before she admits that it was lonely knowing that she and Clark could never see the moon at the same time. Lois slugs him on the shoulder half-heartedly. "Come on, Smallville. I've got a story to write."

* * *

The words come surprisingly easy this time around, whether it was the coffee, the nap, or the distance that helped, she isn't sure. Either way, it takes barely forty-five minutes for Lois to write and Clark to edit the story. She is glad he'd offered to read through it for her—not only because she knows she tends to ramble when she's tired, but also because she'd tried to make it abundantly clear that she supported Oliver in his decision to reveal himself as Green Arrow, even if a lot of people wouldn't. If Clark picks up on the subtext, though, he doesn't mention it. He wouldn't, she guesses. He's spent a lot of time pretending to be ordinary.

Once Clark has place his stamp of approval on the story, she moves it into the server. While he heads upstairs to make up the guest bed for himself, Lois leans back into the couch and pulls a blanket to her chest, breathing in the smell of him. _God_ , she's missed this. She's missed everything about him.

She closes her eyes and might even doze off, because the next thing she knows, Clark is clearing his throat. "You look uncomfortable."

She shrugs. "My toes went numb a few hours ago. It hasn't been so bad since then." If she hadn't fallen asleep on the ride home, she would have demanded he take her by the Talon for a change of clothes.

He smiles and pulls her favorite of his flannel shirts from behind his back. "Don't feel obligated, but if you get _really_ uncomfortable…"

Lois jumps off the couch and grabs the soft fabric from his hand. Then, out of habit, she rises to her tiptoes to kiss him. As soon as her lips brush the stubble on his cheek, her breath catches and she realizes her mistake. Clark stands still while she lowers herself and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well…" she says quietly as her cheeks blaze. "I guess I'm gonna…" She waves the shirt awkwardly and heads up the stairs for the bathroom.

She pulls on the blue and white flannel and tugs it as far down on her thighs as she can. He's always thought it was sexy when she wore his shirts, but now she worries that it might be inappropriate. She's not worried enough about it to try to sleep in that damn pencil skirt, though. Besides, it's not like they'll be sharing a bed. She knows she'll still sleep better tonight than she has in weeks—she always sleeps better at the farm—but she's kidding herself if she pretends that she won't miss being wrapped in his arms.

Lois washes her face and brushes her teeth, grateful that he's at least left her toiletries from the other chaste nights she's spent at the farm. She can't suppress a tiny smile—he always knew she'd be back.

He's waiting for her in the master bedroom, with a glass of water and her favorite of Martha's handmade quilts. "I know you get cold," he says sheepishly.

"Thanks." Lois nods and can't help the smile that spreads across her face at the gesture. She'd never understood how he could stand the drafty bedroom, but now that she knows he's the Blur… Jesus, _everything_ makes more sense now that she thinks about it.

He heads to the door, but stops before he crosses the threshold. "Lois… If I didn't tell you… I'm really glad you're back." Clark pauses, watching her, waiting for something she isn't sure she can give him.

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, silently weighing her options. She's tired, there's no mistaking that, but tomorrow _is_ Sunday and she's been away from him for so long…

"Okay, well…" He resigns himself and nods curtly. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Clark," she says quickly before he can step out of sight. "Do you think we could talk for a while?"

He smiles at her then, a true, radiant, Clark Kent smile and he shuts the door behind him. "I'd like that."

* * *

They talk about everything and nothing, sitting cross-legged on the bed they've shared on so many nights in the past. He asks about Africa and she tells him it was hot and very sandy and mostly a waste of time and the _Planet's_ frequent flyer miles.

"I love Perry, really, he's amazing…" she says with a laugh, munching on one of Martha's chocolate chip cookies, left over from her visit last weekend. "But the _Planet_ needs me on an international desk like I need a hole in the head."

Clark grins. "Well, puff pieces never were your style. You do better digging _for_ dirt than digging _in_ it."

"Exactly!" She tips her cookie at him in acknowledgement and leans back to rest against the headboard beside him. "God, I missed this," she says before she can stop herself. She holds her breath, hoping against hope that Clark might have missed her slip-up. From the way he studies his palms, she knows she isn't that lucky.

"I missed _you_ ," he says quietly after a long moment of silence. "I know I told you to go, but I am really glad you came back."

She just nods, sensing there's more.

"With Chloe gone and Oliver… Well."

She watches him carefully as a myriad of emotions crosses his strong features. He looks conflicted for a second, then sad, then confused.

"Lois," he says slowly, "you're my best friend."

It's not an admission of undying love, but to be fair, she isn't sure she's ready to give him that either. It's not even an offer to date again… But it _is_ Clark Kent baring his soul to her in a way she's never seen before. He's always been so guarded, so protected, and now she understands exactly why.

She reaches into the space between them and grasps his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

* * *

She wakes just before one on Sunday afternoon to find herself curled against Clark's body, his mother's quilt thrown haphazardly over her legs. Old habits die hard.

She tries to extricate herself from him, but his arms tighten around her waist, and he buries his nose deeper into her hair and moans ever so softly… So she sighs and tangles her feet with his and closes her eyes before she falls back into the most perfect, uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much!


	18. 54) Air

**A/N: The Smut Squad asked and I delivered. Things get dirty here. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

She'll never get used to flying with him. It's like the most intense, heart-stopping, breath-taking roller coaster she's ever been on. And while Lois has always been a fan of roller coasters—the more intense, heart-stopping, and breath-taking the better—there's something completely different about being strapped into a seat attached to a hulking metal structure that undergoes routine safety inspections than soaring over the streets of Metropolis supported by only Clark's arms.

Although, she rationalizes as her stomach dips with another change in altitude, roller coasters break down occasionally, even with their inspections, and Clark never has. Yet. But there's a first time for everything.

That's why, as he zooms through the night air over the bright lights of the city below, Lois can't help but grip his shoulders tightly and screw her eyes closed and pray for a safe landing. This power of his is so new that she still isn't entirely sure she can trust it.

"Lois." He slows dramatically and she wiggles a little to test him. If they're back on the _Planet's_ roof, he'll set her down with no questions, but if they're still aloft…

He tightens his grip on her thighs. Well, at least that's settled. She'll just keep her eyes closed until she's back on solid ground, thank you very much.

"Lois," he says again, lips close to the shell of her ear. "Open your eyes. Look down."

If she weren't scared to death, she might laugh at the suggestion. As it is, she just sucks in a deep breath of the cold night air and shakes her head. "Nope. No way. That is _not_ happening."

He sighs. "Why not? It's beautiful up here."

"Haven't I ever told you that I'm afraid of heights?"

"You're Lois." He kisses her temple. "You aren't afraid of anything."

"Yeah, well…" She tightens her grip on his neck and gasps in fear as he shifts her weight in his arms. "I guess 'plummeting to my death' is a pretty good way to start Lois Lane's List of Things She's Afraid Of," Lois says through clenched teeth as she digs her fingernails into his shoulders.

"Okay, seriously," he mutters. "I'm not going to drop you. The view from up here is absolutely incredible. That's why I brought you up with me."

"You mean you won't drop me on purpose…" she grumbles. It's not that she even thinks he'd do it as a joke, knowing he could catch her… But sometimes things happen… And what if there just so happens to be a store of kryptonite somewhere close to render him powerless? She'd go splat in three seconds.

"I'd never let anything happen to you. Just… Trust me."

She takes a quick mental inventory of her situation. On one hand, she'd rather crawl across broken glass than open her eyes up here; but on the other, Clark can be _damn_ persistent when he puts his mind to something, and she doesn't see him relenting about this. And she _does_ trust him, even when his arms are under her knees and her arms are draped around his neck and they're hanging in the air, God knows how far above the city streets. She _does_ trust him, but she'd definitely feel more secure if the slick material of the suit didn't slide over her blazer and skirt in a not-so-reassuring manner every time he moves.

"Please…" he whispers in her ear. "Please just trust me."

She will never get used to flying with him.

But she does trust him, more than she's ever trusted anyone in her entire life. So Lois takes a deep, shaky breath and opens her eyes slowly. They have to be at least a mile up, but even she can agree that the view is worth the churning in the belly. The lights from the high-rise buildings twinkle under her dangling feet and reflect in the inky black water of the river. To her left, the giant _Daily Planet_ globe spins slowly.

"Oh, wow…" she breathes. "You were so right."

He laughs and the vibrations from his body to hers send chills down her spine.

Eyes wide open, Lois takes in the sight of Metropolis below her. She's flown with him before, in the months since he discovered the power just in time to save the world from Apokolips, but it's usually only short distances and she always closes her eyes and prays until they reach their destination. Clark's been asking her to come up with him at night for about a month, but she'd staunchly refused until tonight. But now… With the twinkling lights underneath them and the breeze from the wind blowing through her hair, she wonders why she fought this for so long.

"You trust me?" Clark asks.

She nods. "Always."

Without warning, he pulls his arm from under her knees, but supports her shoulders so she doesn't fall, and gently lowers her until her feet meet his. Of course. Their standard position for dancing.

"Now." He grins. "I can look at you properly."

She scoffs. "You brought me all the way up here to _look_ at me? What about the city?"

"Oh, Metropolis at night isn't nearly as beautiful as you."

She rolls her eyes, but her lips turn up in a smile just before he kisses her and then she couldn't care less that she's suspended a mile above the city, supported only by the man she loves, because his hands are on the small of her back and his lips are hot on hers.

"You drive me crazy," she whispers breathlessly when she pulls away for air after what feels like forever.

Then he looks at her and the desire in his blue eyes is unmistakable. "Let me touch you," he says.

"When we get home, we can—"

"No. Here."

She gulps. "Here?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"With my life." She nods, tightens her grip on his neck, and kisses him hard.

With one hand—and without taking his mouth from hers—he pushes her skirt up around her hips, guides her right leg around his waist, and gives her panties a swift tug. She sighs mentally. It's really no use buying nice underwear with Clark; he just tears them off her.

But then she can't be mad, because his fingers find her center and he breaks their kiss to smile smugly.

"You're already dripping."

"You're a tease."

And he's kissing her again and sliding two long fingers inside her so slowly she thinks she's going to die. She whimpers and shifts her hips a little, a silent proclamation for him to hurry it up already.

"Someone's anxious." He chuckles. "Tell me what you want, Lois."

The suit changes him, she's learned. Sex with Clark is always fantastic, but it's different when he's in the suit. When he's Clark it's soft and sweet and slow; when he's Superman it's rough and brazen and dirty. Most nights she can't decide which she likes better.

Take this, for example. If he didn't have on the suit and they weren't suspended in the air, if they were at home in their loft in bed, he would never ask her to talk dirty to him. He wouldn't mind it if she did, but he'd never ask her to.

She looks at him. Their mouths are so close, she can feel his breath hot on her lips. "I want to feel you move inside me."

He starts a slow rhythm with his fingers. "And what else?"

"I want to…" She gasps. "Oh, God, Clark…"

He curls his fingers. "What _else,_ Lois?"

"I want to come."

"Ask nicely." He picks up speed and flicks his thumb over her clit.

"Please…" Her voice is barely a whisper as she lays her head on his strong shoulder and struggles to maintain her grip. Her stiletto digs into his ass and she stands on her tip toe in a desperate attempt to bring him closer to her. She is _so close_. " _Please_ , Clark."

"Look at me." He moves his fingers faster. "I want to watch you."

It feels impossible because all her energy is focused on the tight ball of heat in her belly, but she lifts her head from his shoulder and meets his marine eyes with her hazel. Her chest heaves. He is relentless.

Then the ball explodes and spreads into every inch of her and her toes curl in her shoes and she gasps as she rides his hand through completion.

He licks his fingers clean as she tugs down her skirt with one hand and tries to catch her breath.

"Why haven't we done this before?" she asks, gazing up at him.

"Because until now you've been too afraid to come up with me." He laughs. "If I remember correctly, 'plummeting to her death' is the first thing on Lois Lane's List of Things She's Afraid Of."

"Consider me cured."

Clark smiles, kisses her, and wraps his cape around them both before they fly even higher. Below them, the lights of Metropolis twinkle on.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you!


	19. 93) Thanksgiving

**A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who are stateside with me! Please enjoy. And if you are braving the Black Friday madness, please be kind and please be safe!

* * *

The decision not to sell the Kent Farm turns out to be much easier than either one of them expected. They have several offers, some more fair than others, but Clark's hesitation to accept any of them tells Lois more than she needs to know. So one night in late June, the first time they've been able to actually sit down to dinner together in almost two weeks, she clears her throat.

"Clark, we need to decide what to do with the farm."

He nods. "I know."

"Like, yesterday."

He twirls his chopsticks through his lo mein. "So, what did you have in mind?"

Lois sits back in her chair and takes a drink of her water. "I think we should keep it."

"Now, Lois, I know you think it makes the most sense to sell it, but I'm just not sure that I'm—" He stops short. Looks at her. Takes it in. Then he smiles. "Did you just… I… Really?"

She shrugs. "It's pretty clear that you don't actually want to sell it or you would have done it already. I've been crunching some numbers this week and talking to your mother…" She produces a folder with stacks of paperwork on all the offers from their real-estate agent; pulls out an offer from a couple that was only interested in working the land. "And I think if we rent out the farmland, we can keep the house and make enough to start saving a little."

There's more discussion. He wants to see the numbers for himself, of course, and there's a quick phone call to his mother to verify that she's really okay with their decision, but after an hour or two, their choice is made; then his eyes light up and he kisses her, sweeps her into his arms, and makes love to her until the sky is tinged pink and orange with the sunrise and she's completely exhausted.

She's never regretted their decision to keep the little yellow house in Smallville. It was the first home she ever knew, and it makes sense for him to keep all his Kryptonian artifacts there and not in their loft in Metropolis in case the wrong sort of person were to come looking. Plus it gives them a place to escape for the weekend when they need it. Martha can't be a senator forever; one day she'll need to retire. And it gives them a place to host family when they come to visit.

So while she's never regretted their decision to hang onto the Kent farmhouse because so many of her favorite memories are here, she _is_ starting to regret offering to host Thanksgiving here.

Lois wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and feels the trail of flour that she leaves behind, but she can't make herself care. She's already on her fifth attempt at a damn pumpkin pie. In the living room, Clark lets out a raucous cheer and claps. He's completely oblivious, of course.

"Honey," she says softly, trying to keep the desperation she feels from creeping into her voice. "I, too, am grateful that it's the day before Thanksgiving and we're in Smallville and not at the _Planet_ and that Met U is playing in a basketball tournament and that they've managed to actually, I don't know, _score_ against Kansas…" She sighs. "But do you realize that in about twenty-four hours there will be hungry people in this house that expect me to feed them? _I don't cook, Clark!_ "

He turns around slowly and looks at her, eyes wide. "Did you say something, Lois?"

She groans in frustration and tosses her dishtowel onto the island. "I need _help_! I'm trying to make Thanksgiving perfect because I know how important it is to you, but _I can't do it by myself._ I've already drank the entire bottle of wine that I was supposed to use on the turkey and if I burn one more pie, I'm going to lose it."

"You made Thanksgiving dinner last year just fine." He smirks at her.

"It was a fluke." It's all she can do not to punch him in the face. If she knew there was even a chance she could hurt him, she might. " _Clark!"_

He nods and jumps off the couch. "Okay. Tell me what I can do."

She narrows her eyes at him, surprised that it's that easy. "Really?"

"Really." He runs a hand over the flour on her forehead and kisses the tip of her nose. "But can I just say, you look adorable with flour all over you."

As stressed as she is, she can't help but smile. Then his left hand is on her waist and his right hand lands on her neck and his thumb brushes against her jawbone and his lips work against hers fluidly and he pins her hips against the island with his. Thanksgiving preparations be damned; as long as Clark's kissing her like this, she couldn't care less where everyone's sleeping and where their dinner is coming from.

And then the dryer buzzes loudly and as delicious as the moment is, she _does_ have a cadre of guests to prepare for, so she places a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away, reveling at how even two years later, he can still make her blush like a teenager.

"So Miss Lane," he says, "how can I help?"

"Well, eventually I'm going to need more wine…"

He narrows his eyes at her.

"For the turkey," she says quickly and then purses her lips. "And you might as well get a nice red for dinner tomorrow while you're out. But you can start by taking the sheets out of the dryer and making up the guest room for Chloe and Ollie, the living room couch for your mother, and the couch in the barn for Conner."

He furrows his brow. "Shouldn't we let my mom sleep in our room?"

"I tried." Lois shrugs. "She absolutely refused. Said there was no reason for both of us to be out of a bed when she was perfectly fine on the couch."

He nods. "What about your dad and Lucy?"

"They, um…" She grabs the measuring cup and starts scooping flour into the mixing bowl. Another attempt at a pie crust. "They're not coming."

"Since when?"

She stirs in the butter. "Lucy texted me last week. My dad's getting sent to Germany to oversee some training and Luce is going with him. Their plane leaves early tomorrow morning, so they're spending Thanksgiving on base."

"Are you okay with that?"

Lois shrugs. "Sure, Smallville."

He isn't sure that he believes her, but the tiny creases in her forehead as she measures salt and sugar and works the mixture with her hands tell him that now isn't the time to push the issue.

So he kisses her on the cheek. "Lois?"

She looks up and sighs, flour settling into the curves of her nose. "Yeah, Clark?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiles. "Now get going on those sheets. I'm up to my elbows in pie crust."

* * *

Chloe and Oliver arrive just after eight and Chloe rushes up the front steps and grabs her cousin in a tight hug. It's been months since they've seen each other, and while FaceTime, Skype, and Watchtower's other high-tech video chat technology help, it just isn't the same. Clark also pulls the blonde into a tight embrace and the four of them stand in the chilly evening air for a moment before Lois beckons them inside and then Clark escorts Oliver upstairs to the guest room to drop the luggage.

"So what's for dinner?" Chloe asks as she collapses onto the couch. "I'm _starving_."

Lois sits next to her. "I thought we'd go out. I've been cooking all day."

Chloe glances around the kitchen, looking for evidence. Clark, bless him, had offered to super-speed clean the kitchen while Lois showered and she hadn't protested. Her afternoon had gone from bad to worse after her fifth attempt at pumpkin pie hadn't ended much better than the previous four. She hadn't realized that it takes _days_ , not hours, to fully thaw a frozen turkey, which meant that Clark had to employ his heat vision to melt the thing. She'd ended up in a mess on the kitchen floor, head in her hands, flour in her hair, lamenting the fact that Thanksgiving even existed.

That's when Clark had told her to take a shower while he cleaned up. Then he'd joined her and rinsed the conditioner from her hair with gentle fingers and carried her to bed and they'd made love for close to an hour, which was just long enough to remind her that while she may be terrible at cooking, she's also _really_ fantastic at other wifely duties.

"So the cooking wasn't that successful," Lois says with a shrug. "Let's just say I sent Clark to the store for frozen pizzas and mozzarella sticks just in case the whole turkey thing doesn't work out."

Chloe laughs and grabs her cousin's hand. "Well, at least Mrs. Kent is on her way. If anyone can pull off a Thanksgiving miracle, it's her. Not that you _need_ one," she adds quickly.

Lois grins. "And I thought it might be nice for us to have a double date. I'm so glad you guys decided to come in a little early."

"Well, it was a little selfish on our part." Chloe tucks a curl behind her ear. "There's something that we want to talk to you and Clark about."

"Is everything okay?" Lois's stomach drops. That's the sort of thing someone tells you before you get bad news. But it can't be bad news; she's never seen her cousin so happy—Chloe's practically _glowing_.

Chloe nods. "Very. We just have sort of a favor to ask you guys. But I don't want to spoil it, so I'll wait."

"You know I hate surprises…"

"Then let's go!" Chloe stands and tugs Lois's hand.

Clark and Oliver descend the stairs and Lois tells them to get their coats so they can grab dinner in town.

"Is Lois driving?" Oliver chuckles.

"I thought I would," she responds.

He pulls a face and crosses himself and Chloe punches him in the shoulder.

Lois grabs Clark's hand as he starts out the door and he turns to her. "Yes, Miss Lane?"

With a grin, she reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and produces a pair of the glasses he's taken to wearing. She slides them over his ears and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss him and they follow their friends.

* * *

The conversation is easy and the food is delicious, but Lois can barely swallow for fear of Chloe's announcement. Finally, when the plates have been cleared and desserts have been ordered and the wine in the bottle is dwindling, Oliver clears his throat and threads his fingers through Chloe's.

"Um, well, guys… So there's something that we need to tell you before everyone else gets here…" He glances over to Chloe, who takes in a deep breath and widens her eyes.

Lois would recognize what they're doing anywhere because she and Clark do it all the time—they're having a silent conversation. And then Clark proves her point by nudging her thigh and raising his eyebrows. She shakes her head in response. _No, I have no idea what's about to happen_.

"Okay, fine, I'll tell them," Chloe says exasperatedly and grins. "Lois… Clark… I'm—"

"Chloe's pregnant!" Oliver exclaims and throws up his hands.

Lois, who was subconsciously bracing herself for the worst, can barely breathe, but she catches Chloe's eyes across the table and she is _so happy_.

"Oh, my God!" Lois says and then she's on her feet and hugging Chloe and her hand is on her cousin's still flat stomach and she can barely believe that there's another human in there and that life is going to change for Chloe and Ollie forever.

Clark hugs Oliver and then Chloe and then the four of them mash together in a lopsided group hug and when they pull apart, there are tears streaming down Chloe's face.

"I'm sorry," she says, fanning her face. "I cry all the damn time now. It's the _worst_."

"She cries _all_ the time now," Oliver says matter-of-factly. "She found a pair of shoes on sale one day and cried. Queen Industries gained a point in the Dow last week and she sobbed. Hysterically. Really, this is nothing for her."

They sit back down in their chairs and Clark's hand finds Lois's and pulls it into his lap.

Chloe eventually quells her tears and takes a long drink of water. "Anyway, we wanted to tell you guys first because we kind of have something else to ask you." She looks at Oliver and nods.

"Right," he picks up. "So, in the event that something should happen to us—"

"—which it won't," Clark supplies.

"—in the _unlikely_ event that something should happen to us," Ollie continues, "since Chloe and I don't have siblings, we would really like it if you guys would agree to be the baby's godparents."

Clark looks over at her, and, not for the first time, Lois wonders if Kryptonians can actually read minds and he's just conveniently forgotten to mention that to her. She smiles at him and gives him the tiniest nod. As if she could say no to her best friend and cousin.

He squeezes her hand in response. "We'd be honored."

Both Chloe and Oliver let out sighs of relief and Lois notices that Chloe's hands flutter automatically to her stomach. She wonders if that comes with the knowledge that you're carrying a baby. Then she wonders if she'll ever get to experience that for herself.

"There's one more thing," Chloe says slowly. "And this is really more about you, Clark."

Clark nods. "Go ahead."

"If the baby is a boy, we want to name him Jonathan… After your dad."

"Oh! Um…" Clark's fingers tighten around Lois's hand and he pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he picked up quickly after he started wearing them every day. "Can I ask why?"

"Well, I loved your dad," Chloe says simply. "I mean, I spent more time at your house than I did my own and he was always kind and patient and more than willing to feed me and give me advice. And I just, I don't know…" She shrugs. "It just feels like the right thing to do."

Clark's brow furrows and he stares at the breadcrumbs on the tablecloth before he turns his eyes up and nods. "I think my dad would be really happy to have your son named after him. So, yes, Chloe. I'd be honored for you to name your baby Jonathan if it's a boy."

Lois forces a smile and takes a few delicate bites of the dessert after it arrives, but she's quiet on the drive home, mostly because she can't forget that Clark didn't even glance at her while he was making up his mind.

* * *

Martha Kent and Conner are waiting for them in the kitchen when they return home from dinner and Clark is, naturally, upset that his mother didn't call him to pick them up from the Metropolis airport.

"Clark, please," she responds, as she pulls her son into a hug. "I miss driving. I never get to do it in Washington."

She greets each of them individually and then excuses herself to the bathroom upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. Conner escapes to the barn and Chloe and Oliver retire early as well, claiming exhaustion from travel and, in Chloe's case, pregnancy hormones.

Lois checks on the turkey in the refrigerator, although she isn't one hundred percent sure why—it just seems like the thing to do. Then Clark's arms snake around her waist and his lips land in the hollow under her ear and his breath is hot when he whispers, "Let's go to bed."

And she almost lets him carry her upstairs. She almost lets it go and loses herself in his kisses and his arms, but then she remembers how utterly _pissed off_ at him she is, so she slams the fridge door shut and spins around.

"We can go to bed, but all that's going to happen in said bed is sleeping, Clark Joseph Kent." She marches up the stairs, but of course, having a fiancé who can super-speed and _fly_ , for Christ's sake, means that she can never truly storm out of a room, because he's waiting for her at the foot of their bed.

She shakes her head. "Just once, I would like to make a dramatic exit."

"Sorry," he says. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong? You were fine at dinner and now you're not. Does it have something to do with Chloe?"

She sighs. No point in beating around the proverbial bush. "How could you tell them it was okay for them to name their baby after your dad without even talking to me about it?"

"I'm sorry…" He bends and unlaces his shoes. "What difference does it make to you, Lois?"

"I just…" She rings her hands uselessly. They've never actually talked about having kids before other than "let's don't right now" and this isn't exactly how she wanted to broach the subject with him.

She sucks in a deep breath. "I just always thought that we would name _our_ son Jonathan."

His head snaps up and he looks at her. " _Our_ son?"

"Our hypothetical son."

He presses the tips of his fingers together and studies them for a long moment before he speaks again. When he does, it's so quiet that she barely makes it out. "You've… You've thought about what we would name our hypothetical son?"

"Of course I have…" She sits next to him. "I thought we'd name him Jonathan Samuel after both our dads. Hell, your father was more of a dad to me than my own."

Clark looks up at her. "This has really upset you, hasn't it?"

"I don't know why exactly," she says honestly. "It just feels sort of like an insult to us. Like Chloe and Oliver don't think we'll ever have kids of our own."

"We will," he says confidently, and then sighs. "But they beat us to the punch, Lo."

"Like that matters." She scoffs. "It's a _namesake_ , Clark; it's not the last piece of pizza."

He shakes his head. "I already told her yes…"

"So go back tell her no," she pleads.

"I need to…" He stands, shoves his feet into a pair of loafers. "I need to take a walk, clear my head… Think about this. It's a lot."

She nods and says she understands, but she can't shake the feeling that he's already made his decision.

He's been gone almost two hours when she finally crawls into bed.

* * *

She wakes just after two in the morning and Clark's side of the bed is still untouched. She sighs and runs a hand over her matted hair. Fantastic. She's run her fiancé off.

Knowing that there aren't too many places in the house left for people to sleep, Lois decides that if Clark won't come to her, then she'll just go to him. One of the only rules her dad gave her that she actually tries to follow is "never go to bed angry." And with Clark putting himself in so much danger on a regular basis, she could never forgive herself if something happened to him and she hadn't told him she loved him right before he left.

She's surprised to see the kitchen light on downstairs and when she looks to her right for Mrs. Kent on the living room couch, it's empty. Then she hears the tell-tale sign of the kitchen drawers opening and the soft sounds of cooking and she bows her head. Of course.

Lois pulls the cardigan she'd thrown on over her sleep t-shirt tighter around her chest and smiles as she walks in the kitchen. "I've never tried baking at two-thirty in the morning. Maybe I'd be better at it then."

"Oh, Lois. Did I wake you?" Martha is apologetic.

She shakes her head. "No. I don't sleep well without Clark. I'm sorry—is that weird for you to hear?"

Martha laughs. "You've lived together for a year, Lois, it's not like I don't know what's going on."

Excellent point. Lois perches on a barstool. "Have you seen Clark? I actually came down to find him."

"He left around midnight to take care of a situation in Sydney." Martha retrieves four small apples from a produce bag and washes them in the sink. "Why don't you help me with these pies?"

Lois stares at her. "You want them to be edible, right?"

Martha laughs and hands Lois the apples and a knife. "You'll be fine. Now. Since I couldn't get anything out of Clark... Are _you_ going to tell me what's wrong?"

Lois studies the knife. "He told you we were fighting?"

"He didn't have to."

Lois looks up at her in confusion as she begins peeling the apples.

"You and Clark have never realized the effect that the two of you have on each other, and the effect that it has on the people around you. It's like an energy, an aura." She laughs. "Jonathan was the first person to notice it."

"Really?"

Martha nods. "The first day he saw you and Clark together, after I caught you in the bathroom…" She smiles and Lois blushes furiously. "That night, after I got you settled in Clark's room, Jonathan looked at me and said, 'Martha, one day, we'll be watching those two get married.' I thought he was crazy. But even back then he could see there was something special between the two of you."

Lois's throat is tight with tears that she refuses to let fall and she misses Mr. Kent so badly in this moment. She can't imagine how Martha and Clark do it every day. "I know I didn't get to spend much time with him, but I really loved him."

"He loved you too, Lois. You know, Thanksgiving was one of his favorite holidays. He loved having everyone together to share a meal and just be grateful for all they have." She turns her gaze to the ceiling and blinks rapidly, but a few tears still slip from beneath her eyelashes. "Family was always the most important thing to Jonathan."

Lois nods, the pieces finally falling into place. "That's why Thanksgiving is so important to Clark."

They're both silent for a moment, the only sounds the steady whir of the food processor as Martha cuts the butter into the pie crusts and the soft slicing of Lois's knife through the apples. Then Mrs. Kent clears her throat.

"My point in saying all that was: it's easy to tell when things are less than perfect between you two. So what are you and my son fighting about, anyway?"

Lois shrugs. "Coincidentally, Mr. Kent. More specifically, his name."

Martha shakes her head. "I don't understand…"

"I'm going to spoil it, so pretend to be surprised tomorrow when she tells you. Chloe's pregnant." Lois pauses to let the news sink in. "And she and Ollie asked Clark and me to be the baby's godparents."

"I can't see that being an issue," Martha says. "You and Clark would be wonderful parents… _God_ parents."

Lois doesn't miss the slip, but doesn't have the energy to explain that she's expressly avoiding that part of the conversation with Clark for now. "No, we agreed to that part. What's bothering me is that they want to name the baby Jonathan. Clark doesn't see a problem with it."

Recognition settles across the older woman's face. "But you do."

Lois shrugs. "It always felt like something that should have been reserved for us."

"Well…" Martha brushes the crumbs from her hands and leans against the counter. Then the kitchen door opens and Clark walks into the room, looking gray and haggard.

Lois is always relieved to see him after he's been gone, but the weight she feels lift from her shoulders this time is immeasurable. She jumps from her barstool and throws herself into his arms. His arms wind around her waist and his face buries itself in her neck.

Usually she asks him how bad it was and she knows by now to take whatever he tells her and multiply it by at least three to get the real scope of things—he tries to protect her. But all she can say as he lifts her by the thighs and carries her upstairs is "I'm so sorry" and "I love you."

* * *

He strips off the suit and pulls on his favorite pair of sweat pants and climbs in bed next to her. She can tell he's exhausted, but she needs to say this now before she loses her nerve, so she turns and props herself up on her elbow and gazes down at him.

"We need to talk."

He sighs. "Lois, can't this wait until morning?"

"It really can't. The General always says, 'don't go to bed angry' and I'm not letting it happen now, especially on Thanksgiving."

His lips quirk up the tiniest bit. "My dad used to say the same thing."

"Speaking of your dad…"

He tenses visibly and scrubs a hand over his face. "If it's really bothering you that much, I'll tell Chloe to choose a different name."

She shakes her head. "I think you should let Chloe and Oliver name their baby Jonathan."

He stares at her for a minute. "What changed?"

"I talked to your mom… And she reminded me that family is the most important thing. Like it or not, we're all connected now." She grabs his hand. "It doesn't matter who's honoring your dad as long as he's being honored, because he was an incredible man and he deserves it."

"Are you sure?" He pushes himself to sitting and holds her shoulders gently.

She nods. "I'm sure."

He kisses her softly and rests his forehead against hers when he pulls away. "You are incredible."

She shrugs. "It's been suggested."

* * *

Thanks in large part to Martha Kent's words of encouragement (and the remainder of the white wine that didn't go into the turkey), Lois's bird emerges from the oven a perfect golden brown. The mashed potatoes are fluffy; the green beans are steamed to perfection with just the right amount of butter and garlic; and her sixth attempt at a pumpkin pie finally turns into something edible, which is good because Clark says it just isn't Thanksgiving without a pumpkin pie. She even manages to make a pitcher of caffeine-free sweet tea for Chloe, who can't get enough of the stuff.

And even though Martha's homemade cranberry sauce is absolutely to die for, Lois insists on having a dish of the store-bought kind, which she carefully removes from the can, leaving the indentations on the gelatinous form. It's not even that she likes it that much, but her mother always made sure it was on the table, and Lois tries to honor her in whatever way she can.

Lois pours the wine as Clark carves the turkey and then after they've all taken their seats, Martha raises her glass and stands at the head of the table.

"Thanksgiving was always one of Jonathan's favorite holidays, and he liked for us to go around the table and say something that we're grateful for. It's kind of a Kent tradition." She smiles at Lois. "But I'd like to take the opportunity to create a new tradition. A toast to all the things we're grateful for. One by one. I'll start. To family." She turns to Chloe, who sits on her left.

"To old friends," she adds, raising her tea, which Lois festively served in a wine glass.

Oliver never takes his eyes from his wife as he speaks. "To new life."

"To destiny," Clark says, turning to Lois.

"To soul mates." Lois smiles at him.

"To dinner!" Conner proclaims and rubs his stomach hungrily. "Can we _please_ eat now?"

They laugh and clink glasses and drink heartily and pass plates of turkey and sides around the table.

Clark's hand brushes Lois's as he reaches for another helping of mashed potatoes and he leans in close to her. "Happy Thanksgiving, Lois."

She pecks him on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving, Clark."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you!


	20. 98) Writer's Choice: Duet

**A/N:** I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been experiencing a particularly terrible case of writer's block. I hope this one was worth the wait.

For all the feels (and to experience the incredible song that inspired this piece), check out Penny and Sparrow's "Duet."

* * *

The _Daily Planet's_ fundraisers have always been a little bit of an inside joke for him and Lois. After all, the Wishing Well Fundraiser two years ago was where they had their first truly public outing—where he first wrapped his arm around her waist and led her around the room and realized how wonderful it felt that she was on his arm and truly _his_.

He'd had big plans for them that night; he'd wanted to take their relationship to the next level, the _physical_ level, because he'd been thinking a lot about his time spent in her memories of the future and how amazing her body had felt under his and he wanted that for real. But she'd shot him down with a sly grin and a flip of her hair and the somewhat startling revelation that she knew he was the _One_ …

So he'd kissed her chastely goodnight and postponed Clark Kent's tour of the galaxy until another evening. Then he'd gone home, taken a long shower, and thought about the curve of her neck and the cupid's bow of her lips and the way she said his name when he kissed that one spot on her neck and he'd stroked himself until he came, chanting her name like a prayer. This he could handle: he'd pined after Lana for years and then spent even longer worried that he'd never be able to control himself long enough not to kill a human woman if and when he bedded her. Frustration was nothing new for him.

Truthfully, he's glad they'd waited now. It had been perfect and meant so much more that she'd known the entire truth about him before they'd made love for the first time. And Lois was definitely worth the wait. Especially since they couldn't get enough of each other now. He'd always heard that sexual chemistry was the first to fade in a relationship, but honestly, he just didn't see that happening with them. If anything, it was growing stronger.

They always looked back on the Wishing Well Fundraiser as the first major turning point in their relationship, so for the past two years, they'd looked forward to any evening event, where Lois would drink crantinis and smile at him over the rim of her glass from across the room, just as she had that first time, and he would nurse a beer, even though alcohol doesn't affect him in the least, and then after they'd been there long enough to make an impression on the right people, he'd slip her coat over her shoulders and whisk her home and they'd fall into bed, laughing and moving together as they whispered secrets into one another's skin.

This is the first event since he's become Superman—ironically, it's this year's Wishing Well—and as much as he hates it, there's some doubt as to whether they'll actually be able to attend the soiree. Crime in Metropolis has been on an upswing since the return of Lex Luthor—although the two can't definitively be connected, the Chief of Police has told them on numerous occasions—and Clark stays busier than either he or Lois ever thought possible.

Still, she'd purchased a new dress last week (that she refuses to let him see) and remains positive that everything will work out for the best. He loves her for that.

They're sitting on the couch, her bare feet in his lap, watching TV and eating pizza and thinking about getting in the shower and starting to dress for the evening when he hears the sirens. He tries to control his face as he finishes chewing, sets his plate on the coffee table, and gently nudges her ankles to the floor.

"No…" she breathes as he pushes himself to standing.

He shrugs. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "No, I get it. I guess I was just hoping…" She brushes the crumbs off her hands and chews the inside of her cheek. "But you have to go. I know that." She looks so defeated, so downtrodden that one of their favorite events of the year will be ruined. He won't stand for it. She already gives up too much because of what he does.

"It's just a fire," he tells her, thinking quickly. "Maybe it won't be too long and I can meet you there?"

Lois nods and smiles up at him, but the light doesn't quite reach her eyes. "If you can. But don't sacrifice anyone else because of me. And don't be reckless." Then she rises onto her knees and grabs his t-shirt in both hands and pulls him into her, kissing him fiercely.

She tastes like pepperoni and garlic, but he doesn't back away, because deep down he's always worried that every kiss could be their last.

Lois pulls away before he's ready and she pulls his glasses from his nose. "Go get 'em, Superman."

* * *

Over the past eight months or so, ever since they moved into their rent-controlled loft in Metropolis with the killer view of the skyline and convenient access to downtown and the Suicide Slums, Clark's taken a liking to watching Lois sleep at night. He's well aware that it can be kind of creepy, so he tries not to do it often, but there are some nights when he returns from patrol and sees her sprawled on the couch in her favorite pajamas—which are really just his softest, oldest Smallville High football t-shirt and a washed out pair of black leggings with a hole in the left knee—with her hair piled onto her head in a messy bun and tiny smears of zit cream on her face. And he just can't help himself.

He's told her time and time again that she doesn't need to wait up for him on the nights that his routine patrol runs into the early morning hours. Sometimes she's still awake when he returns to their loft, sitting on the couch with her long legs tucked underneath her, reading or watching TV or typing away on her laptop, always trying to get ahead on a story. But ever since he became Superman—ever since she _named_ him Superman—his nights have been getting longer and more unpredictable. Now, more often than not, he finds her curled into a ball on the couch, a book open across her chest or the TV casting a soft, blue glow across her features. Still, she won't go to bed without him. It just isn't the same, she tells him.

God, he loves her.

He loves her so much that he has to stand over the back of the couch and just take it all in for a moment, take _her_ all in for a moment, listening to the steady lub-dub of her heartbeat in the darkness. The soft, dependable rhythm that reminds him what he's fighting for every day. How did he get so lucky? How could she possibly love him back?

Then gently, so as not to wake her, he slips his arms under her knees and carries her to bed. Sometimes she wakes and kisses his neck and runs her hands down his back and then he has no choice but to _take her to bed_ and peel her leggings off and plant delicate kisses along her ribcage and stomach… And some nights she sleeps through it all and only sighs contently when he slips into bed next to her. Eventually, though, he pulls her into his arms and sleeps, dreaming of the day he can make the world a perfect and safe place for the woman he loves more than anything else.

God… He _loves_ her.

That's why, he decides as he pulls on his suit jacket and tightens his tie, he absolutely cannot tell her about what happened at the fire tonight.

It's not that she wouldn't understand. In fact, Lois _always_ understands. She's been his biggest supporter ever since he'd gone public. She's always believed that he can make a difference in the world. More than his mother, more than Chloe, more than himself. On the day that he put on the suit and introduced himself to the world, she'd taken him into her arms and kissed him breathlessly and told him that she'd do whatever it took to help him fight for what was good and right and just. She's an optimist. She's lovely and beautiful and the best thing about his life.

God. He _loves_ her.

And he'd been kidding himself if he said he didn't think this day would ever come.

So he will not, under any circumstances, be telling her about the charred remains of the four-year-old boy he pulled from the building that he arrived at too late.

He won't tell her about the accusatory glances from the weeping mother that nearly broke his heart because all he could think about were the three women in his life that meant the world to him and how he could never forgive himself if Chloe or his mother or, God forbid, _Lois_ ever looked at him like that woman had.

He won't tell her how the fire chief had wiped sweat off his brow and shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder and told him that sometimes you just lose them.

He won't tell her any of that. Because no matter how much he hates it, there are things about his life that Lois must be protected from. It isn't lying… Not really. It's keeping her safe from things that would upset her. Because he needs her to remain that positive beacon of light in his life, the one thing he can always count on even when things look terrible. Like they do tonight.

He spots her almost immediately after he enters the ballroom of the Metropolis Grand Hotel, and she is resplendent. As if he expected anything less.

Her dress is a dark cranberry color and it ends just above her knees, hugging her body in all of his favorite places. Her legs look five miles long in the gray suede stilettos that effortlessly adorn her feet. Her hair is curled into soft ringlets and swept over her left shoulder, exposing the long, slender lines of her neck. She's wearing more makeup than normal including a deep, wine-colored lipstick a few shades darker than her dress, and all he can think about is those stained lips, plump from rough kisses, wrapped around him in the most intimate way. And then she sees him across the room and she smiles at him over the rim of her martini glass.

He pushes his way through the crowd to her and slides his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to her temple, a silent announcement to anyone watching. _She is mine. She is the one thing in the world I haven't managed to mess up yet and you can't take her from me._

Then she turns to him and smiles. "Everything good, Smallville?"

He nods curtly. "Everything's perfect now. Can we dance?"

"Absolutely."

He leads her onto the dance floor, pulls her into his chest, and buries his face in her hair. Then he breathes in her scent and closes his eyes and sways, holding her tight in his arms, the rhythm of her heart guiding him as much as the rhythm of the music does.

* * *

They barely make it into the loft before they tear their coats off and his fingers find the zipper on the side of her dress and tug it downwards. Then his hands run under the straps of her dress, over the smooth skin of her shoulders, and he nips her bottom lip impatiently. He needs her so badly.

"Clark…" she says breathlessly, shrugging out of his kiss and pushing the shoulders of his suit jacket down to his elbows. "Try not to rip this dress, okay? I'd like to wear it again."

He nods, but he doesn't make any promises, because not telling Lois about what happened at the fire has turned out to be harder than he expected, and all he wants to do now is bury himself so deeply inside of her that he can't tell where he ends and she begins.

And rinse. Repeat. Until they're both delirious. Until sunrise. Until work tomorrow. Until he forgets. Until the next time he saves someone's life. Until he redeems himself. How many lives will it take to atone for the four-year-old that will never see another sunset?

Something hot surges in his chest. Their bed is too far away. He needs her now. So he grabs her hips and hoists her up against the door and pushes her skirt up and presses his mouth to her exposed neck.

"Clark…" she says quietly, her hands pushing gently at his shoulders.

His fingers spread against the inside of her thighs.

"Clark, stop." She pulls away and stares down at him.

Gingerly, he lowers her to the floor and watches as she smooths the dress around her thighs and pats down her tousled hair. She's quiet as she steps out of her shoes and folds her arms across her chest and stares at him.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Her voice is even, quiet, steady, like she's interviewing a source, but her hazel eyes are wide and worried as she searches his face for some sign of what's truly going on with him.

He shakes his head. "I can't, Lois."

"I don't think it's red-k," she says softly, still peering into his eyes, "because you haven't been enough of an asshole. And you haven't once asked me to call you Kal..."

"Lois, please don't."

"So I see us handling this situation in one of two ways: you tell me what's wrong, we fix it together, and then continue what we've started here; or you stand there, stubborn as a mule, one of us sleeps on the couch tonight, and we both go to bed angry and sexually frustrated." She shrugs. "If I were you, I'd go with option A. Because let me tell you, Clark, I'm nowhere near drunk enough to handle option B."

He hangs his head and shoves his hands in his pockets and studies the wood grain of the floor. He wants to tell her. He _knows_ she'd understand, but he can't put that kind of pain on her. He can't expect her to shoulder the burden of his work the way he has to. It isn't fair. He just wants to protect her.

"Or stand there," she scoffs and begins gathering her coat, purse, and shoes. "That's fine, too."

He rolls his eyes, annoyed that she won't just drop the subject and let him kiss her senseless when he clearly doesn't want to discuss it. "What do you want me to do, Lois?"

"I just want you to trust me." She whirls around. "I… _God_ , Clark, I just want you to look at me like I'm not made of porcelain. Like I'm not going to break every time something bad happens."

"I know you aren't," he says softly.

"And something bad did happen, right? And that's why you won't talk to me, because you think I'm not strong enough to handle it. I'm not breakable, Clark. I'm human, but I am _not_ breakable. Stop treating me like I'm fragile. I'm not Lana!"

Clark has no response for that.

So they just stand there for a few moments, staring at each other, each waiting for the other to give in, the oppressive silence bearing down on them. And then finally, Lois sighs and closes her eyes.

"Okay, Clark. You win." And she shakes her head sadly and walks down the hallway to their bedroom.

He follows her, unsure as to why when he knows he can't give her what she wants, but he can't just let her walk away from him like that. It feels wrong. It feels like the end of something he can't put his finger on.

Her pajamas are in a ball on their bed and she's taken the pins out of her hair, allowing the chocolate curls to cascade down her back. She's struggling to remove the back from one of her earrings with shaky fingers when he crosses the threshold into the room. He can't exactly blame her. This is the first real fight they've had.

"Damn it," she mutters as her fingers slide around the earring and she raises her thumb to her mouth and sucks on it briefly. She must have pinched it.

Clark steps behind her and meets her eyes in the mirror above their dresser, asking silent permission to help her remove the earring. She nods, a barely perceptible movement, and pulls her hair out of the way. A rush of her shampoo and perfume hits his nostrils as he works the tiny metal piece that's turned sideways on its post and he studies her neck and her collarbone and her wine-colored lips.

"There was a little boy," he says quietly, still turning the earring around in his fingers, even though he easily could have popped it free by now. Maybe he's worried that she'll push him away as soon as he finishes helping her. Clark isn't sure if it's the memory of the child or his worry that Lois could possibly turn him away that hurts him.

He clears his throat and tries again. "The apartment building was pretty much completely gone by the time I got there," he says, losing himself in the memory of the charred wood skeleton, licking yellow flames, and billowing black smoke that had greeted him upon his arrival. "And the fire department wasn't too concerned because it was supposedly abandoned. But I x-rayed it just in case and I could see two people inside. So I went in and grabbed them, but the mother, she kept saying her son was still in there. So I went back in and I kept looking and kept x-raying… And I finally found him in the basement, behind a lead-lined cabinet… But… Umm… He was gone. I was too late. God, Lois, he couldn't have been more than four."

Lois turns to him and presses a palm to his cheek. "It wasn't your fault, Clark."

He nods. "I know." And deep down, he _does_ know. The building was supposed to have been abandoned, he'd flown there as fast as he could, he'd found the boy as quickly as he could... And truly, it was only a matter of time before there was someone he just couldn't save. Clark just didn't expect his first loss to be a four-year-old boy in an apartment fire. Still, now that Lois knows, he can't believe the weight he feels has lifted from his chest.

Clark turns Lois's earring over in his palm and holds it out to her. She takes it, sets it on the top of the dresser, and then silently pulls his dress shirt from the waistband of his pants and begins to slowly unbutton it.

His hands go to the straps of her dress and slide them to the side, and he presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder.

* * *

They lie together afterwards, foreheads pressed together, her hands running up and down his arms, his making small circles on her lower back. Somehow, to him at least, this has always felt more intimate than when he moves inside of her.

"You know, I can tell so much about you from your heartbeat," he murmurs, trailing his fingertips up her side. "I know when you're scared, when you're excited, when you're about to come… I know the minute you fall asleep all by just listening to you... But I can't tell what you're thinking."

"That's probably a good thing," she says. "Evens the playing field a little."

He shakes his head. "It makes me feel weak."

"You're invincible," she points out, matter-of-factly.

"I don't feel that way when I'm with you. I've never felt that way with you."

Her hands come to rest on his biceps. "Is that why you didn't want to tell me?"

"Partially," he nods. "I guess I was afraid you'd gotten so used to super-me that admitting that even I can't save everyone sometimes… Well, I want to be better than that for you."

Lois nods. "Speaking of insecurities… I'm really sorry that I brought up Lana."

"I just thought we were past it."

"We are," she agrees, but then adds, "most days. But there are still times when I feel… Compared, I guess."

Clark takes her hand and twines his fingers through hers. "Lois, you weren't completely wrong. I think sometimes I forget that I _don't_ have to protect you as much as I did her. And, God, even I forget how strong you are. You know all my secrets and you've never been anything but supportive. You can't know how much stronger you make me. But I will _always_ worry about you because I love you."

She leans forward and captures his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Let's promise never to lie to each other again, okay? Not about anything. Not even stupid stuff like what we had for lunch or if you don't like my shoes or if I hate the tie that Kara sends you for your birthday."

He chuckles. "Deal. I promise to tell you when I hate the Christmas gifts your sister sends us."

"Also, let's never fight again because I really, really hated it."

"Mad Dog Lane never fighting with me again?" He snorts. "Never gonna happen."

"I concede," she laughs, and then reconsiders. "Although, I will say, the making up part was fun."

"Mmhmm…" He nods, already catching her not-so-subtle hint and moving on top of her.

"And," she continues, as he kisses her neck. "The General always said that marriage is the only war where you get to sleep with the enemy."

"We aren't married yet," he says gruffly right in her ear.

"The devil's in the details," she shrugs. "Besides… I kind of like living in sin with you, Mr. Kent."

He kisses her then and his hands drift down to her hips and her heart begins to race, just as it always does when he touches her.

He's sure there will be more people to rescue tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe the person who needs the most saving is himself.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much!


	21. 11) Red

**A/N:** _This story takes place between episodes 10x14 "Masquerade" and 10x15 "Fortune." It's the longest of the collection (so far) and it's also_ **by far** _the most adult. So if that isn't your thing, it might be a good idea to skip this one._

* * *

She hates Valentine's Day. Like really, actually _loathes_ it. Because historically speaking, it's never gone well for her.

That weird Bonnie and Clyde thing that she doesn't completely remember had transpired on Valentine's Day a few years ago—thank God that tattoo had only been temporary—and last year... God, she doesn't even want to think about last year and her June Cleaver fantasy gone horribly wrong. (Even if she's secretly a little bit pleased that Mrs. Kent had hidden away a few extra copies of that bogus engagement announcement in the attic just for laughs.

Not to mention that she'd lost her virginity to Wes Keenan on Valentine's Day her junior year of high school in the most cheesy, terrible God-awful Valentine's Day cliché of all time, complete with red rose petals covering her bed, a giant stuffed teddy bear, and her father walking in on them, grounding her for three months, and forbidding her from seeing Wes again. Conveniently, Wes had been transferred to another base the following week.

She'd always thought Wes was lucky that her father liked him so much. If it had been anyone else, the General probably would have shot him on the spot.

So, yes. Lois hates Valentine's Day. For good reason. But she knows Clark and she knows he has something wonderful planned so she's trying to think of a way to actually enjoy the holiday for once. Hopefully with as few repercussions as possible.

Luckily, Chloe's return to Metropolis from wherever the hell she's been for the past few months had been almost perfectly timed. And now that she and Oliver are finally official (Facebook and all!), it seems like the perfect opportunity to enlist her cousin's help to find the perfect Valentine's Day gift for her fiancé.

Lois strides purposefully into the bistro with her coat slung over her arm and her lips pressed tightly together. She's on a mission. No one seeing her this morning could deny that. She spots Chloe instantly, settled into a table in the back corner, a plate of French toast and a copy of the _Daily Planet_ in front of her.

Lois sits down across from her cousin and folds her hands together. "I have to do something amazing for Clark for Valentine's Day this year."

Chloe looks up, eyes wide in surprise. "Good morning, Lois. How are you? Brunch?" She holds her hands wide to the restaurant.

"You know I'm always down for a good brunch." She takes the menu and peruses her choices. A mimosa is definitely in order and she's tells their server as much when he comes to take her order. She also orders coffee, pancakes, hash browns, bacon, toast, and two eggs, over-easy.

Chloe glances at her. "You okay?"

"Hardly. This is serious, Chlo." She sighs exasperatedly. "I am in desperation mode here. V-Day is tomorrow and I still have no idea what to get Clark."

Chloe shrugs and lazily turns the paper to its front and folds it closed. "Just put on one of your costumes and lie in bed for a while. Scream 'help' if you have to. He'll find you eventually." She grins. "Anyway, I thought you hated Valentine's Day."

"I do. _Did_ ," Lois corrects automatically. "I did. But now that Clark and I are engaged, I'm trying to be more positive about the whole thing. Plus, you know how ridiculously romantic Clark is... He probably has this whole big ordeal planned and..."

Chloe ducks her head and studies her fingernails.

"Oh, my God..." Lois breathes. "You _know_. You know what he's planning, don't you?"

"I have no idea," Chloe responds, but she doesn't meet Lois's eyes.

"I have known you for literally one-hundred percent of your life. You can't lie to me. What does he have planned?"

There's a brief reprieve as Lois's food arrives and she shovels some egg into her mouth, but then she turns back to Chloe. "What is he planning?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy." Chloe shakes her head. "But I'll tell you this much: you are marrying the sweetest man in the entire world. You're really lucky, Lo. Just relax and enjoy it."

"You're right..." Lois chews her toast, swallows, and takes a long sip of her mimosa. "But what about you? I thought since you were all billionaire-boyfriend-having now, you'd be giddy at the thought of Valentine's Day."

Chloe shudders. "No. Ollie and I have decided to stay in tomorrow night. Considering our last night out ended with us kidnapped and in chains—and I don't mean the sexy kind—I think we're due for a quiet evening at Watchtower."

"Fair enough. Will you help me shop for Clark anyway? You know him better than anyone else."

"Oh, I can tell you exactly what he wants for Valentine's Day—" She pauses while Lois looks up at her expectantly. "You. Preferably naked or scantily clad."

To this, Lois sets down her fork and folds her hands over her stomach. "But we have sex all the time."

"Really didn't need to hear that."

But Lois, unperturbed, continues. "So I just need to make it different... Special... Spice things up a little."

"Oliver likes toys," Chloe offers dryly, because she's almost convinced that Lois isn't actually paying any attention to anything she's saying. The look she gets in return for her comment, however, proves her wrong. "What? Just offering suggestions."

Lois considers this for a moment but then shakes her head. She loves Clark dearly, and there may come a time for that, but their relationship is still new. Moving that quickly, well... She can only imagine the look on her boy scout's face if she pulled out her vibrator.

"Well, Clark's a little more... Vanilla than Oliver, but I think maybe you're onto something with the whole costume thing." Lois picks up her fork and digs into her pancakes. "Brunch up, cuz. We've got shopping to do."

* * *

She finds the panties and matching bustier in a boutique in Downtown Metropolis, just a few blocks away from the _Daily Planet_ building and she can hardly believe her luck. She chews her lip for a moment, letting the garment swing back and forth from her finger while she considers it.

It's perfect.

The lace is dark blue and the shield—his shield, which is really some kind of family crest apparently (she's still learning about all the Kryptonian stuff)—is emblazoned on the front of the underwear in shimmering red crystals.

Merchandise with the Blur's logo has been popping up all over Metropolis for months. Chloe had left a coffee mug at the Talon and it now resides at the Kent Farm and Lois takes her coffee in it every morning. Lois had purchased a Blur key chain for herself when Clark officially asked her to move in with him and gifted her a door key of her very own (which, of course, she'd had before, but it coming from Clark felt so momentous that she felt the need to commemorate it somehow). Even in Washinton, Mrs. Kent proudly sported Blur-chendise that she'd picked up on her last visit to Metropolis.

But Clark hated that even though people were desperate to show their support for him in the face of the still very popular anti-hero movement, someone was still profiting from it.

"The Blur doesn't exist to help some corporation make money, Lois," he'd ranted to her one evening when she'd pulled her new Blur t-shirt out of the dryer and slipped it on before bed. "I do this because I'm helping people."

Deep down, she understands. And if he ever chose to go public, maybe they could work something out. Find an agent, trademark the logo, and donate all the money to charity. _Whatever._

So while she's dying to see the look on Clark's face when he finds her lying across their bed in this get up, with her red stilettos to complete the effect, she can't shake the feeling that it might just make him really, really angry. And the last thing she wants to do is pick a fight with her fiancé on Valentine's Day. It isn't exactly the best way to go about changing your epically bad relationship with the holiday.

Then Chloe gasps behind her and dissolves into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, my _God_ , you have to buy that."

"I don't know..."

"What? Why? That's... Oh, my God... I can't." Chloe shuffles through the hangers on the rack. "You think they have any Green Arrow ones back here?"

Lois studies the bustier and gives the straps a firm tug. Of course, there's not a fabric on earth that can withstand Clark's hands when he gets excited, but these seem sturdy enough. And Clark does love her in blue... He says it brings out the green in her eyes... She trails her fingers along the rhinestones that glint in the fluorescent store lighting. Candles by the bed would set them off nicely _and_ would be just like their first time at the farm...

Chloe scoffs. "You aren't still seriously thinking about that, right? Just buy the damn thing."

Lois shrugs. "He'll be mad."

"He'll get over it as soon as he gets it off you. It's _perfect_." Then she holds up a green thong. "Do you think we could bedazzle this ourselves?"

It _is_ perfect. And Clark's never been able to stay mad at her for too long, especially when she pouts and kisses the shell of his ear and whispers his name as he slides inside of her.

So she ignores the warning bells that still echo in her head and plops the lingerie down on the counter.

The saleswoman grins up at her. "Oh, your man's a fan, too?" She leans in conspiratorially, so close that Lois can smell the cinnamon of her gum. "My Tony, he can't get enough of me in these. He likes to pretend he's the Blur and he's savin' me from somethin'." The woman winks at Lois as she scans the tag and processes Lois's credit card.

Chloe, meanwhile, laughs hysterically.

* * *

Clark has taken up his usual perch on the edge of the bathtub as he watches her wash her face that night. It's been months and she still doesn't understand his unusual desire to watch her get ready for bed every night, but she loves the look that he gets on his face when he watches her remove her makeup and being with Clark is far better than being apart from him so she never complains about it.

"So what did you and Chloe do today?" he asks as she squeezes toothpaste onto her brush.

Lois shrugs. "Oh, shopped mostly. Ate _way_ too much. Stopped off for pedicures." And waxes, but she isn't going to _tell_ him that. Instead she whirls around and lifts a foot into his lap. "Wanna see my pretty red toes?"

"Very nice." He studies them for a moment and then rubs the arch of her foot, which elicits a low moan from her. He stops.

She narrows her eyes, turns, and spits into the sink. "Tease."

"So what did you buy?" Clark continues, coming to stand beside her, and reaches for his toothbrush. "Anything exciting?"

"Actually, yes. A couple of blouses for work, some _amazing_ new pumps..." She slathers on her moisturizer. "And a Valentine's Day gift."

"A Valentine's Day gift? For me?"

She scoffs. "No, Clark. For my _other_ fiancé. You may have met him. He's about your height, about your build, dresses in primary colors. Goes by the Blur..."

Clark spits the toothpaste into the sink and rinses his mouth before he kisses her cheek. "I thought you hated Valentine's Day."

"I admit that in the past my feelings toward the holiday have been less than jovial..." She shrugs. "But now I have you."

He smiles at her. "Can I at least have a hint? I mean, Valentine's Day _is_ on a Monday this year, and Mondays are so hard anyway... I might be too tired after work tomorrow to do anything."

It's tempting. It had been so hard to sneak the bag into the farm while he was still at work, wash and dry the lingerie, and hide it in her side of the closet under an old sweater she hasn't worn in ages. But she has _big_ plans for that underwear, and she absolutely cannot risk him seeing it until the perfect moment.

But she isn't convinced. "No way. You'll just have to wait." She clears her throat and pauses in the doorway. "But you could, _maybe_... Put that x-ray vision of yours to good use tomorrow at work." She shrugs and feigns innocence. "If you wanted."

She's barely taken two steps out the door before Clark's arms are around her waist, carrying her towards the bedroom.

* * *

She wakes up alone the next morning, which usually bothers her, but today is exactly what she needs. When she focuses on it, she vaguely remembers Clark kissing her goodbye and telling her he was going on morning rounds (he's been so on edge with this Darkseid thing) and would be back by seven to pick her up for work.

It's earlier than she would prefer when she peels herself from the warmth of their bed and trudges into the bathroom, but Lois is determined to make Clark's Valentine's Day a special one. So she climbs into the shower and shaves her legs and spends extra time curling her hair and putting on her makeup. For fun, she adds a deep red lipstick because it _is_ Valentine's Day, after all, and why the hell not?

In their bedroom, Lois pulls on the panties and bustier and adds a red garter belt she'd just so happened to have stashed away in a drawer, saving for a rainy day. Then she dresses in Clark's favorite of her skirts and one of her new blouses (the red silk one with a plunging v-neckline) before she steps into her black stilettos and examines her silhouette in the full-length mirror. Perfect.

Granted, the lingerie isn't really meant to be worn under anything, but when your fiancé has x-ray vision, who could resist tempting him all day long? Erring on the side of caution, she tucks an extra pair of panties and a red lace bra into her work bag, just in case Clark gets ahead of himself and _rips_ them off her as he's been known to do. The _Planet_ , they've found, is full of nooks and crannies to which they can escape when the news is slow and there's been too much time since they last touched one another.

Clark returns just after seven and barely registers her sitting on a barstool in the kitchen nibbling on a muffin before he speeds upstairs and returns freshly showered, shaven, and dressed for the day.

He takes an apple from the bowl on the island and kisses her cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day, Ms. Lane."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mr. Kent," she responds as she turns and straights his—red, she notes with glee—tie. "Don't forget to send your mother flowers."

"Already done. A dozen red roses will be delivered at ten a.m. And I already texted Oliver to remind him that Chloe's favorite flowers are tulips, as he requested last week." He bites into his apple. "My good deeds for the day are done, which means I can now focus entirely on you."

Lois studies him. There's something downright lascivious in the way he's eating his apple, spreading his lips across the skin before sinking his teeth into the flesh, then sucking the juices from the fruit before chewing and swallowing.

He's such a tease.

That's half of why Lois was so determined to wear her lingerie all day—to tempt him. Mondays are always busy for them. She spends at least half her day on the phone with the court clerk, trying to get the weekend's arrest records sent over before eventually giving up, marching down to the courthouse, and printing them out herself. Yeah. She's really popular with the courthouse staff.

She's almost surprised that with their busy work schedules he hadn't tried to come home early from rounds this morning for a round of quick, pre-work Valentine's Day sex. That would be a perfectly appropriate reason for sex, she rationalizes. Truth be told, they find almost any occasion the appropriate one for sex anymore. (Her personal favorite so far has been "Damn, That was Exceptionally Good Mexican Food, Especially the Guacamole" sex.)

"By the way..." Clark finishes his apple and tosses the core into the trashcan from across the room. A tease and a showoff. If only he weren't so damn charming. "If that's one of your new blouses, I'm a fan."

"Oh. It is. Thanks." She'd planned on waiting it out, on pretending like everything was totally and completely normal until he couldn't take it anymore and whisked her away to the roof or a janitor's closet and tore her clothes off, but her curiosity is getting the better of her, especially now that she knows that he's actually paying attention to what she's wearing today. She simply _has_ to know if he's taken a peek yet.

Lois clears her throat as innocently as possible. "So... Have you, uh..." She narrows her eyes and mimics the expression he gets when he uses his power.

Clark grins cheekily. "Oh, no. It's tempting, believe me, but umm... Not yet. I thought I'd wait until we get to work."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Because otherwise we'd never get there."

She raises her eyebrows at him and sighs. "It's going to be a long day..."

"Yep."

* * *

She has to give credit where credit is due—he makes it to lunch before he grabs her wrist and pulls her into the janitor's closet under the stairs and crushes his mouth to hers.

"Are you clocked out?" he whispers against her pulse point.

She barely manages a nod, dizzy from the heat of his mouth on her neck and his hands on her back, holding her body close to his.

"Good." He kisses her hard and his hands tug at her blouse until it's free of her skirt and he can slip his hands underneath. He pulls and grins at her away after his palms spread across the lace bustier. "Naughty."

"I'm guessing you finally saw your present then?" Lois asks, grabbing for his tie and tugging him back toward her.

Clark nods. "I did. But it feels better than I imagined... I can't begin to think what it will look like in person..."

He kisses her once more and then his lips move along her jaw and down her throat to rest in the hollow of her throat as his fingers work open the buttons of her blouse. She's grateful that he's taking his time and being careful. She really likes this top.

Finally, he pushes her shirt off her shoulders and kisses the skin just between her breasts. "God, you're beautiful," he whispers, and then flicks his tongue over her lace-covered right nipple before bringing his mouth back to hers and grasping her hips tightly.

He presses her against the brick wall and rocks his hips forward just the tiniest bit, just enough that she can feel his hardness against her thigh, straining against the zipper of his slacks, ready for her. Her thighs part of their own accord as she twists her fingers in his hair and kisses him deeper, trying to draw him into her in any way she can.

Clark's hands slide to the back of her skirt and unzip it and it pools around her ankles when it falls. She pulls back from him to kick the garment away from her and he catches the flash of the red rhinestones that adorn the front of the panties.

Lois watches his reaction. His eyes, dark and half-lidded with lust, widen briefly as he takes in the logo— _his_ logo—and then he smiles wider than she's seen him smile in weeks and his body presses against hers.

"Clark, please," she breathes into his mouth. "I want to feel you..."

He cups her sex with one broad hand while the other slips the straps of the bustier from her shoulders and frees her breasts from the lace cups.

Clark glances down at her and there's something different in his gaze that she can't pinpoint. But she doesn't concentrate on it for too long because he turns her around, braces her hands against the rough wall, and thrusts into her from behind.

Oh. My. _God._

She's too taken aback to do anything but gasp and moan and reach behind her to claw desperately for him, but he brushes away her hand and grasps her hips firmly as he pumps into her.

What really surprises her, though, are the things he's saying to her.

It bothered her for a long time that Clark was so quiet during their lovemaking. She's always been rather _loud_. Clark, on the other hand, is all whispers and moans and low grunts. She's done everything she can think of to get him to be more vocal with her, but he's never taken the hint. But today, in the _Daily Planet_ janitorial supply closet under the stairs of all the places, the stream of language coming from Clark Kent's mouth as he fucks her—and there is no flowery language she could substitute here, because he is literally _fucking_ her—is even making Lois blush a little.

"Damn, Smallville..." She pants. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He reaches around her and grabs both breasts, rolling each erect nipple between his fingers. "I'm not interested in talking about— _shit,_ Lois—my mother while I'm balls deep inside you."

She whimpers wantonly as he angles his pelvis and somehow thrusts even deeper into her. She can't focus on anything but his fingers on her breasts, pulling and pinching in the most delicious way and the sounds of his heavy panting as he pushes her further into the wall. Her palms feel bruised and scraped from the brick. She'll be lucky if they aren't bleeding by the time they're finished.

"Look at me, Lois," he says after a few minutes of sweet torture, his voice strained as his pace increases and he drops a hand from her breast to rub rough circles on her clit. "I want to watch you when you come. And you will come, harder than you ever have in your life."

She turns to him over her right shoulder, her hair sticking to the sheen of sweat that coats her face, and he, in tandem, he gives her nipple and clit particularly aggressive squeezes.

And she immediately shatters with a strangled sob. She falls apart, becomes a useless heap of bone and flesh. A thoroughly fucked Lois Lane in the closet under the stairs. If it weren't for Clark's hands on her hips, she'd collapse right there.

"Now say my name," he tells her withdrawing so slowly that her eyes roll back in her head. "Say my name and tell me what you want me to do next."

"I want..." She shudders as the aftershock of her orgasm ripples through her when he pushes back inside. " _God_ , Clark, I want you to come inside me."

He pauses. "Don't call me Clark."

She turns to him, confused, because of his strange request. She _had_ accidentally called him the Blur once during sex and that had opened a whole brooding side of Clark she wasn't prepared to deal with. But ever since then, she'd been particularly careful to keep his superhero side out of the bedroom. Well, until the whole panties thing. God, maybe this was a terrible idea after all.

But then he fills her completely and kneads her breast again and she bites her lip. "What should... Oh, _Jesus_..." Another ball of pleasure is winding itself between her legs, spurred on by his fingers that still lazily stroke her in just the right spot. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Kal," he says. "Oh, fuck, Lois, I'm gonna..."

"Yes..." she encourages him. "Yes, Kal. Please..." The name feels strange on her tongue, but isn't this what she's wanted? For Clark to tell her what _he_ wants? For him to finally share his fantasies openly with her? She pushes her hips back into him, spurring him on to his completion. "Please, Kal, please. Come inside me. Let me feel you."

His hips snap once more and then his fingers dig into her flesh as he empties inside her and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain. She knows without a doubt that there will be tiny half-moon lesions where his fingernails have cut into her skin. It doesn't bother her, really. Scratches are a normal part of hot sex, but Clark's usually so careful, always so worried and aware that he can hurt her.

Clark pulls out of her almost immediately and tugs her panties off with a swift flick of his wrist. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips his fly before securing the underwear in his pants pocket and winking at her.

"I'll just hang onto these. God, you're..." He grins and shrugs, like he can't find the exact word he's looking for. "You're amazing. Look, I had Valentine's Day plans for us, but they were stupid. Give me a few hours. Let me get everything perfect... And then..." He reaches for her, pulls her into his chest, kisses her deeply. And even though she knows it's wrong because something's definitely _not right_ about this Clark—Kal?—she can't deny the zap of electricity she feels between her legs.

He presses his lips to her ear. "Tonight, I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight. I want your juices dripping down my face and my hands and my dick. I want you on your knees in front of me, sucking my cock until I come in the back of your throat. I want to tie you to our bed and blindfold you and drive you absolutely crazy. I'm going to bring you so close to the edge again and again that you'll be begging me to let you come."

He kisses her once more, then he grabs his jacket from the floor and super-speeds out of the door, leaving Lois half-naked, alone, and very, very confused.

* * *

He doesn't return after lunch, which isn't all that strange because sometimes things come up and he has to take care of them. What is different is that he hasn't texted her to tell her where he is or when he'll be home, and she can't find reports of the Red Blue Blur anywhere in the world.

There have been, however, three jewelry store robberies in Metropolis, and all report missing diamond jewelry of some kind. She glances at her engagement ring. Clark talks often about how he wants to buy her earrings to match before their wedding, but she knows how much he makes and that he spent _way_ more than the traditional three-month salary on her ring. But Clark doesn't rob jewelry stores. And he wouldn't. He _stops_ robberies, for Christ's sake.

He also doesn't take her from behind in a janitor's closet at work before stealing her panties and telling her all the dirty things he's doing to do to her later. But he had. The more she thinks about it, the more she's absolutely sure there's something _wrong_ with Clark.

She keeps an ear on the police scanner, waiting for him to sweep in and save the day, just like he always does. But instead, five boutiques and all three of the stores where they'd registered for their wedding are robbed and in the pit of her stomach she just _knows_.

But she doesn't know what to do.

"Lois!" Tess marches over to her desk a little after two. "Where the hell is Clark?"

Lois sighs. "That's a question you and I would both like answered."

Tess narrows her eyes. "Everything okay?"

"I don't..." She rubs the bridge of her nose. "I'm not sure."

"Let me know. And if you need to take off early..."

Lois nods her thanks before she gathers her things, and calls Chloe as soon as she enters the elevator. "Hey, Chlo... Sorry to bug you when you're with Ollie, but... I think we have a problem."

* * *

It turns out that their version of pillow talk—Clark filling in the sketchier details from certain unexplainable events from Lois's early years in Smallville while his fingers tangle in her hair—has paid off. Chloe confirms her suspicions of red kryptonite over a brief phone call and together, they form a plan. It breaks Lois's heart to think about causing Clark so much pain, but she needs her fiancé back, the _real_ one, not Kal, the asshole who'd stolen her panties and left her alone to go rob jewelry stores because he thought it would turn her on.

"Kal?" She walks into the farm cautiously, praying that he hasn't returned yet and that she still has time to gather the glowing chunk of green kryptonite she'll need to turn him back into the man she loves. Receiving no response, Lois tosses her things on the kitchen counter and heads for the barn loft, where she tears through Clark's trunk for the lead box she knows resides there. It's her only hope. How she'll hide it from him, she has no idea.

She's standing in the loft, box in hand, trying to formulate a plan, when she feels the air change. She knows before he speaks that he's behind her.

"You're home early," he says slyly, climbing the stairs slowly. "You couldn't wait for round two either."

Lois folds her arms behind her back, securing the box, and turns to face him, plastering a smile on her lips. "Well, it _is_ Valentine's Day after all... And after a performance like that, who could resist an encore?"

Kal studies her intently and her heart pounds in her ears. She struggles to keep her breath even and steady. "Lois... What's in the box?"

"What box?" She takes a step backward and trips over the edge of the rug. He's behind her in an instant and he catches her, but he also pries the lead box from her fingers and her heart sinks as he tosses the box from the loft. She hears it land with a thud in the distance.

He tuts at her. "Tricky, tricky..." In one swift movement, Kal lifts her in his arms and descends the stairs. "I know what you're doing, but you see, I kind of like me this way. I just feel so much more..." He sighs. "Free."

Lois squirms in his arms, but his grip is like a vice. She feels more bruises bloom along her thighs. "You may like yourself this way, but personally, I think you're kind of an asshole. I much prefer Clark."

"That's where you're confused, baby," he murmurs, pulling open the kitchen door with one hand. "I _am_ Clark. I'm just Clark with no inhibitions. I'm what Clark's like without all those pesky morals in the way."

He stops in the kitchen and eyes the staircase. Then, without a word, he sets her on the kitchen island, clears it of all the appliances, fruit bowls, and abandoned, half-empty cups and mugs, and climbs on top of her.

Kal moves his body sinuously over hers, his hips pinning hers to the counter, his hands roaming over her neck and torso. "Can you feel how hard I am for you already?" He takes in a deep breath and runs his tongue up her neck. "God, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I left the _Planet_."

"Those jewelry stores," she gasps. "Did you rob them for me?"

He nods. "Of course. You deserve everything. I couldn't give it to you on a reporter's salary. But now..." Kal kisses her deeply, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth, so different from Clark's tender, gentle kisses that transport her to a different world. This one brings her crashing back to reality. "I can give you everything, Lois. We can have _everything_."

She nods. "Yes, Kal. Everything."

His hands slide under her top to the clasp of the bra she'd changed into after their lunchtime rendezvous. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," she murmurs, running her hands down his back. She digs her fingernails into his ass. She's always loved his ass. "Kal, please."

He suckles on her neck as he kneads her breasts under her shirt. "God, I love your tits."

"Yes..." Lois's fingers make purchase with the button of his pants and she feigns trouble with it with her right while her left snakes into his left pocket, reaching for the underwear she knows must still be tucked in there.

Chloe had seemed confident that if getting him close to the green kryptonite didn't work, there was always the possibility that simply removing the source would have the same effect. It wouldn't be as immediate and, of course, the panties would have to be destroyed as soon as possible to make sure that they couldn't reinfect him. Jesus, she's never celebrating Valentine's Day again.

She finds the lace bundle and yanks it from his pocket as his thumb and index finger tighten painfully over her nipple.

Lois cries out and Clark sits up, looking at her with wide blue eyes. The lust is gone, the darkness of desire she's grown to know so well is gone. All that's left is confusion and embarrassment. She's so relieved that she tosses the panties over his shoulder into the living room and launches herself at him.

"Clark? Is it really you?"

His arms are strong around her waist and his breathing is ragged and shallow. "It's me," he pants. "Oh, my God, Lois, I'm so sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

* * *

Clark spends the rest of the night fixing his mistakes in Metropolis. He returns the stolen jewelry (and clothes and household appliances) and offers to work an overnight shift at the _Planet_ to make up his absence to Tess. She declines his offer for the time being, saying that she figures he has more apologizing to do to Lois.

Clark insists she see Emil to ensure that the scratches on her hips don't require stitches (they don't) and that the bruises on her thighs aren't more dangerous hematomas (they aren't). After her checkup, Lois spends a few hours at Watchtower with Oliver and Chloe, which she knows doesn't make either one of them incredibly happy, but she just doesn't feel right being alone at the farm right now. It's not that she doesn't trust Clark, because even in his red k infected state, he seemed like he genuinely cared for her, but she's just not sure she's ready to be alone. Together, the three of them watch Lois's panties burn.

Still, when Clark arrives a little after eleven, she knows she's overstayed her welcome, so she hugs her cousin and Oliver goodbye and takes Clark's arm and allows him to escort her to his truck parked on the street.

Their drive back to Smallville is silent and tense. Chloe had told her that they weren't sure if Clark always remembered exactly what happened during his episodes or just bits and pieces, but it seems that he remembers this one perfectly. He keeps looking over at her, blushing furiously, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, and focusing on the road.

Finally, as they pull up to the farm, he clears his throat. "I hope you don't mind, but... I went ahead and, umm... Well. I thought you deserved your Valentine's Day present."

She sighs. "Clark, no offense, but after today, I'm just about Valentinesed out."

He nods. "Okay. Well. It's already... Yeah."

"Fine." Lois shakes her head and climbs out of the vehicle. Honestly, she just wants to go upstairs, take a long, hot bath and forget that today ever happened. Tess had already told her to take tomorrow off if she needed it.

When she walks into the house, however, her breath is completely taken away. "Oh, Clark."

He shrugs sheepishly. "I know it's probably lame, but... I had to improvise."

She wanders around the kitchen island, taking in the smells emanating from all her favorite ethnic dishes. Her stomach grumbles insistently and she realizes for the first time that she hasn't eaten since breakfast.

Clark follows her closely. "I had dinner reservations, but obviously had to cancel... So I thought this might be an acceptable alternative."

She turns to him. "Acceptable? This is amazing."

He grins, a true megawatt Clark Kent smile. "Well, I got champagne from Reins, bread from Paris, pasta from Rome, nachos from Piedras Negras, egg rolls from Fujian, sushi from Osaka, and churros and hot chocolate from Madrid for dessert."

"What about the roses?" She nods to the vase of deep pink flowers in the center of the island.

"American Beauties, just like you."

"You spoil me," she says softly, shaking her head at the spread before her.

"I hurt you today." He hangs his head. "I actually did the one thing I swore I'd never do and I hurt you."

"You weren't yourself."

"There's no excuse for what I did."

"Clark." She grips his face tightly and forces him to look at her. "I'm fine. We are fine."

"The way I talked to you..." He turns out of her grasp and covers his mouth with his hand. "I can't believe I said those things."

"It's okay to have fantasies, Clark."

He shakes his head adamantly. "It shouldn't have been like that."

"So we'll work on the delivery," she acknowledges. "But... What you—Kal—said... About him being you, having your desires just without the inhibitions... If you really feel those things, if you really love my tits—"

"Lois!" Clark blushes.

She chuckles and grabs his hand. "It's okay to tell me those things. It's okay to tell me what you want. Sometimes I think you spend so much time trying to satisfy me that you forget about yourself."

He stares at her for a few moments and she can't read his expression. Finally, he sighs. "I love you so much."

"I know," she says. "And I knew you loved me when you were on the red k. And I love you, too."

He brushes her jaw with his thumb. "You should eat."

"I will. There's just one thing that I want to do first." Lois kisses him softly and trails her lips down his neck before she drops to her knees in front of him and reaches for his zipper.

"No." Clark grabs her elbow and tugs.

"Tell me what you want me to do," she whispers, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I want you to eat dinner. Get up."

" _Clark_. You've never let me. Now, tell me what you want."

He sighs and rubs his temples. "I want to... To feel your mouth around me." He says it so quickly and quietly that she almost misses it, but she works his zipper downwards anyway.

"Okay."

She figures it's as good a start as any.

And, she decides, fifteen minutes later after Clark finishes in her mouth and she swallows every last bit of his seed and then kisses him deeply, maybe Valentine's Day isn't the worst holiday after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** As much as I love season 10, I wish they had given us two things: a red k episode where Lois and Clark are together and a Valentine's Day episode where they're together intimately. This was my attempt to explore both of those issues at once. I hope it was enjoyable. Thanks for reading and happy Valentine's Day!


End file.
